Twin Peaks - Through the Darkness of Future Past
by Coltan Campion
Summary: A Twin Peaks prequel, and lead-in to season 3. Spanning from 1967-1988, this novel tells the entire life story of Dale Cooper: his childhood, his work with the FBI, his friendship with Windom Earle, his lost love, and his ultimate betrayal. And found out how the forces of the Black Lodge been invading the lives of these two men for decades before the death of Laura Palmer.


**Through the Darkness of Future Past**

A Twin Peaks prequel

A labour of love

written by Coltan Campion

Attributed to

Mark Frost, Harley Peyton, Scott Frost and David Lynch

Based on characters and concepts

created by Mark Frost and David Lynch

I claim no copyrights on any of the characters or ideas in this book. I wrote it in the hopes that it could join the greater canon of Twin Peaks, that world which I love so much.

If you love Twin Peaks, please share this with your friends. There is more soon to come.

**1\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, WINDOM'S CELL – NIGHT**

_We begin in a fuzzy haze of crackling static. We are buried deep inside a television set. The screen, which has faded from being left on for hours, hums a backdrop of white-noise. As the credits flow and a saxophone plays a sultry, slow-tempo melody, we slowly pull back and reveal the television rests in the corner of a darkened cell._

_ Creamy, luminescent Moonlight pours in through a window, scattered across the ground by a division of five firm metal bars. The padded walls and floor are bathed in the bluish tint from the lunar illumination. Curiously, the door to the insane asylum cell has been left wide open. The bodies of an inmate and a security guard are hanging from the rafters, coarse rope tightened around their cold, clammy necks. The two stiff, lifeless bodies sway to and fro ever so slightly in the soft, gentle night breeze._

_On the floor of the cell, sitting casually crisscrossed, is WINDOM EARLE __**[Kenneth Welsh]**__. His face is a scraggly carpet of stubble and his graying hair an unkempt tangle of tufts. His pallid skin is pale and his intense eyes are bloodshot. He proudly wears his straight jacket with the sleeves untied, the garment no longer serving as a restraint, but merely as a warm outer layer. He is absorbed in a solo game of Chess, the board laid out on the ground, and pays no attention to the fresh corpses dangling directly above him..._

Francis Bouygues Presents

A Film by David Lynch

Twin Peaks

Through the Darkness of Future Past

Starring:

Kyle MacLachlan as Special Agent Dale Cooper

and Kenneth Welsh as Special Agent Windom Earle

Also Starring in Alphabetical Order:

David Bowie

Kate Bush

Catherine E. Coulson

Don Davis

Brad Dourif

David Duchovny

Miguel Ferrer

J. E. Freeman

Chris Isaak

Crispin Glover

Dennis Hopper

Freddie Jones

Michael Keaton

Calvin Lockheart

David Lynch

Brenda E. Mathers

Jurgen Prochnow

Kevin Pollack

Bill Pullman

Charlotte Stewart

Dean Stockwell

David Suchet

Pruitt Taylor Vince

Naomi Watts

Ray Wise

Billy Zane

and Isabella Rossellini as Dahlia

Featuring:

Don Amendolia

Patricia Arquette

John Astin

Dylan Baker

Frances Bay

Marshall Bell

Jack Black

Nicholas Cage

Joan Chen

Frank Collison

Willem Dafoe

Laura Dern

George Dickerson

Richard Dysart

José Ferrer

Nancye Ferguson

Pamela Gidley

John Glover

Heather Graham

Sheryl Lee

Robert Loggia

Michael Massee

Malcolm McDowell

Patrick McGoohan

Kim McGuire

Larry Miller

Jack Nance

Albert Popwell

Lou Reed

Henry Rollins

William Sanderson

W. Morgan Sheppard

Sting

Al Strobel

Carel Struycken

M. Emmet Walsh

Tracy Walter

Hank Worden

Treat Williams

Vivian Wu

and Diane Ladd as Diane

Music Composed and Conducted by:

Angelo Badalamenti

Cinematography by:

Ron Garcia

Edited by:

Mary Sweeney

Produced by:

Francis Bouygues

Gregg Fienberg

and Harley Peyton

Based on Characters from the Television Series "Twin Peaks" Created by:

Mark Frost

and David Lynch

Written by:

Mark Frost

Harley Peyton

and Scott Frost

Directed by:

David Lynch

_Windom makes his final move, using his black Knight to knock over the white Queen, leaving the white King in a position of inescapable defeat. A crooked grin consumes his face and he softly exclaims in victory..._

WINDOM:

Checkmate.

_Chuckling to himself, Windom stands up and leisurely strolls out through the open cell door. We slowly fade to black and hold..._

**2\. EXT. DARK FIELD – NIGHT**

_We find ourselves in a dark, grassy field. The ground is clustered with black birds, so thickly convened that the overgrown grass is obscured by their bodies. They ruffle their feathers and quietly caw, every discreet chattering accentuated by the otherwise silent night. In the sky above floats the Moon, fully displayed in it's circular celestial glory, the blue hue of it's luminescence glowing off the reflective eyes of the dark birds._

_ An Angelic, matronly woman is alone out in the field. Her eyes are wide and honest, betraying every trace of __fear__ that lingers behind them. She is dressed only in a white nightgown, which flows behind her in the silent breeze. Her name is FLORENCE COOPER __**[Kate Bush]**__._

_She carefully tiptoes through the densely congregated birds, straining not to disturb them. Her balance is challenged with every step as she searches for space between birds to rest her bare foot in the frosty grass. The field stretches out in every direction, and she is currently in the center. Dark, inaccessible woods border her, cordoning off the empty field into the shape of a massive rectangle. Her intended destination, far off in the distance, is a lonely, abandoned house in disrepair._

_ Florence lacks confidence in the direction she is headed, as well as her purpose out in the field. She regularly steals nervous glances over her shoulders, paranoia softening her resolve to continue forward. She is careful to avoid touching the birds in any way, treating the winged creatures with constant trepidation.  
A horrendous, earsplitting screech breaks the calm stillness of the field. The birds all look up towards the sudden noise, which originated off in the direction behind Florence. She is terrified to look for herself, but she has a good idea of what to expect. Mustering her innermost courage, she swivels her head. Perched high in a tree on the distant border of the field is a Giant Horned Owl, watching her every movement with cold, unforgiving eyes. For an instant, they both meet each other's stare, and she knows what she must do..._

_ Abruptly, Florence makes a mad dash towards the house. The Owl leaps weightily from it's branch and glides towards her. The entire conspiracy of black birds leave the turf and take off into flight. Thousands of birds fill the air, and both Florence and the giant Owl struggle to maneuver through the black swarm. Curiously, the building ahead does not seem to move towards her as quickly as she is moving towards it. Weight seems to be added to Florence's every step, almost as if she is underwater. The ground between them stretches out, making her journey last an eternity. Chancing a glance behind her, she spots the Owl swooping ever closer._

_ At long last, Florence finally reaches the front door, but the Owl is narrowly behind her. She bursts in and forces the door shut as quickly as she can. But, before the latch can be set into the wall, something has already reached the front porch and is pushing against the door, barring it from closing completely. This "something" is not the Owl that was previously chasing her. It is the DARK MAN. Florence pushes with all of her weight, even as she sees the dirty, callused fingers wriggling their way through the crack._

_Utilizing every ounce of her adrenaline, she manages a final shove which slams the door closed, leaving the man locked outside. She leans backwards against the door and breathes a sigh of exasperation. Pausing in silence for only a moment, her heart jumps when the man speaks to her. His ingratiating voice is calming and reassuring, but evident in his tone is an undercut of malicious taunting._

DARK MAN:

That wasn't very nice, now was it, Florence? It's dreadfully cold out here, you know. Please, let me come inside. I could never hurt you. I would never cause you grief. You've got to trust me, Florence. My only desire is to make you happy. You are my Queen.

_Florence ignores the Dark Man's pleas and wanders to the center of the house. The wooden floor is filthy and untreated, and the sparse furnishings offer no comfort. There is only a rock-hard bed by the window and a shabby dresser against the wall._

_With a start, __Florence notices that the room is growing dimmer. She walks towards the dusty window and sees that the black birds are filling the night sky so fully that the entirety of the Moon has been eclipsed. As all goes dark, the man begins pounding violently against the door, screaming like a wild animal. The strength of the door's hinges is tested as dust and down crumble from around the frame. Knowing that the Dark Man will eventually get in, Florence frantically searches through the room for an alternate escape route. Tragically, there are no hidden exits to be found._

_ Anxiously, Florence pulls opens the drawer of the room's dresser, finding it empty, save for a simple Golden Ring. She picks up the accessory, blows off the dust, and fondles it's glistening sheen in her palm. Somehow, she is aware of the item's purpose and importance. She reflects for a moment, considering fitting it upon her finger, but opts instead to return the Golden Ring to it's place in the drawer._

_Florence returns to the front door as the Dark Man's pounding and accompanying screams grow louder. His violent rage scarcely resembles anything human._ _She silently prays that she will wake up before the man can get inside..._

**3\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, FLORENCE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Florence wakes up with a chill from her haunting nightmare, greeted by the soothing voice of DONALD COOPER __**[Bill Pullman]**__ as he gently nudges her back to this world. Cold sweat runs down her face as she catches her breath. She hides her horror behind a brave smile._

DONALD:

Sorry to wake you, Flo, dear. But, our little Cooper trooper's got another asthma attack. He says I don't have the magic touch, and he needs his Momma.

FLORENCE:

Alright. I'll be right there.

**4\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT**

CAPTION:

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

December 27th, 1967

_Little DALE COOPER is laying in his bed, writhing back and forth from his asthma attack, the sheets tangled around his tiny body. Florence sits in the bed beside him and rests her hand on his forehead._

FLORENCE:

Hush, now, Dale. Momma's here. Momma will make everything better.

_She opens up a jar of VapoRub and spreads it over his prepubescent chest. The gentle touch of his mother, coupled with the soothing aroma of the medicinal gel, causes Dale to relax._

FLORENCE:

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Slowly, now, slowly.

_Following his mother's whispered instructions, Dale's breathing begins to regulate. She takes his little hand in hers, and he grips back tightly._

FLORENCE:

Would you like Momma to sing to you?

_ Dale nods. Florence glances around the room, looking for inspiration. Through the window, she spots the luscious full Moon lighting up the outside world. Utilizing her willowy voice Florence sings "It's Only a Paper Moon"._

FLORENCE:

Well, it's only a paper Moon

Hanging over a cardboard sea

But it wouldn't be make believe

If you believe in me

Well, it's only a canvas sky

Sailing over a Muslin tree

But it wouldn't be make believe

If you believe in me

Without your love

It's a honky-tonk parade

Without your love

It's a melody played on a penny arcade

It's a Barnum and Baily world

Just as phony as it can be

But it wouldn't be make believe

If you believe in me

_As Florence sings, we circle around the room and see all the various knick-knacks and memorabilia that make up little Dale's world, including the poster of Jimmy Stewart in "The F.B.I. Story" that hangs up above his bed, an autographed picture of Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. framed next to it, and the incomprehensibly gargantuan reel-to-reel tape recorder that takes up his entire bedside table. After we complete the circle, we return to the bed. Dale has finally managed his breathing enough to speak, and vulnerably confesses..._

DALE:

I was having a bad dream...

FLORENCE:

Well, you're here with me, now, and we aren't dreaming anymore. Whatever monsters you were facing are left behind.

_This seems to comfort Dale, and he manages a meek smile. Florence looks out the window at the Moon, her eyes widening as she recalls..._

FLORENCE:

I was having a bad dream, myself.

DALE:

You were? What was it like?

FLORENCE:

I was out in a field... all by myself... Except, there were thousands of little black birds, everywhere. And, I guess I frightened them all away, because they flew into the sky and blacked out all the light. And then it was dark, and I was all... alone.

DALE:

Were you scared?

_Florence forges a warm, nurturing mask to hide her true feelings behind, assuring her son that everything is right with the world._

FLORENCE:

Of course not. Because, I woke up at the same time I always do. Never be afraid of your dreams, Dale. We can see things in our dreams that we can't see when we're awake.

DALE:

What do you think your dream meant?

FLORENCE:

Nothing. You just drift away now. I'll stay by your side until you're asleep. Dream something beautiful for me, okay?

_Dale closes his eyes and drifts back into slumber-land. Florence massages his scalp and gazes upon her precious child with unconditional __love__._

FLORENCE:

You're my special little guy.

**5\. INT. COOPER'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Little Dale Cooper, an honest and introspective child, if somewhat emotionally distant, sits in the middle of the Cooper family's humble living room on the scratchy ovular rug. He is far too close to the television set, practically feeling the static Electricity buzzing upon his face. He carefully absorbs every moment of this week's episode of "The FBI". The two starring Agents sit in their office, reviewing case notes. Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. makes his way to the window and uses a forefinger to divide the blinds, peering outside._

PHILLIP ABBOTT:

So... Where do we start?

_Efrem Zimbalist grimaces with macho bravado._

EFREM ZIMBALIST:

From scratch!

_The end credits begin rolling, the thrilling sting music plays, and Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. drives away in his 1968 Ford Mustang convertible. As Dale's impressionable young eyes expand to about five times their normal size, it is clear that he has already settled on devoting the rest of his life to becoming an Agent of the FBI. Behind him, though the unobstructed doorway, we can see into the kitchen, and an old woman is humming to herself._

**6\. INT. COOPER'S HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY**

_GRANDMOTHER COOPER, a slow-moving, but incessantly cheerful old lady, is preparing a cherry pie for the oven. A faded apron, showing the wear of several decades of continual use, is tied around her waist. Her shaky, wrinkled hands painstakingly fold the lattices of crust over the edge of the pie tin. As she works, she cheerfully hums "Coming for to Carry Me Home" off-key._

_Without any warning, the old lady suffers a shortness of breath, and the liveliness from her eyes fades into a vacant stare. She clutches her heart with her hand and feels her right side go numb. Her pupils dilate and her breathing ceases. She drops to the ground, dead from a stroke. The cherry pie teeters on the edge of the counter and falls, splattering all over her face. Her hand clutches her apron in an unyielding grip and her eyes remain wide open as the globules of cherry filling oozes down her cheeks._

**7\. INT. COOPER'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Disturbed by the commotion, Florence hurries through the living room to investigate the kitchen. Dale turns his attention away from the television set, instinctively sensing that something is wrong, and follows his mother with his eyes._

**8\. INT. COOPER'S HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY**

_Florence remains frozen under the arch of the doorway, her mind quickly processing the scene below her. She sees Grandmother Cooper sprawled out upon the floor, the innards of the cherry pie leaking out from under her head like a puddle of thick, crimson blood._

FLORENCE:

Oh, no... Mom...

_Florence crouches down to check the pulse of her mother, although she already knows that it is too late. She lifts the telephone from it's place in the wall and dials the operator._

FLORENCE:

This is Florence Cooper at 1127 Hillcrest Avenue. My mother's just had a stroke. I think she's gone. Can you send a doctor, please? Thank you.

_After she puts back the phone, she turns to find that little Dale has made his way into the room and is looking down at his deceased granny. She immediately kneels next to him and addresses her son._

FLORENCE:

Dale, I'm so sorry, but Grandmother has died.

_Little Dale looks up at her, sheepishly, unsure of how he should feel._

FLORENCE:

It's okay, Dale. Take my hand.

_Dale takes his mother's hand. Florence speaks in barely a whisper._

FLORENCE:

There's nothing to be afraid of. Let's look at her for a moment. Together.

_Florence and Dale look upon the dead woman in silence, hand in hand. Dale observes with a morose curiosity, neither __fear__ nor grief factoring largely into his emotions. The red cherries have slowly dripped down her face, giving her the appearance that she is wearing too much rouge._

FLORENCE:

Are you scared?

DALE:

No. I'm not.

FLORENCE:

Death is nothing to be afraid of. She lived a long, happy life, and she was very loved. Why don't you touch her forehead?

_Dale steps forward, tentatively, and lays his hand upon her._

FLORENCE:

Everyone has to die someday. And the only tragedy is if we wasted our life in anticipation of it. Don't be afraid to face it when your time comes.

DALE:

Alright, mother. I won't.

**9\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY**

_A MEDIC is zipping up Grandmother Cooper's corpse in a body-bag. Dale is now with his father, who rests his arm along his son's shoulder as they watch her being wheeled away. Donald Cooper is a handsome man who speaks softly, but with a distinctive, gravely voice. Like always, he wears khaki pants and a light blazer, and the product used to slick back his hair has faded, resulting in a tangled mess. The medic offers his findings as he rolls past._

MEDIC:

She's died from a stroke. If it's any consolation, it was very quick, and she couldn't have felt any pain.

DONALD:

Thanks. That helps.

_Donald noncommittally nods his head as the body is taken away. Dale waits for the medic to leave before he gains the courage to release what is weighing on his inquisitive mind._

DALE:

Father? I once read in a science book that Electricity is what keeps us alive. Do you know where it comes from? And, where does it go after we die?

_Donald exhales a deep breath at the prospect of tackling such a heady topic._

DONALD:

Well, golly, Dale. That's sorta what we call the 'Big Question'. I'm afraid I don't know the answer, and I'm not sure if there's anyone alive who does. But, hey, maybe Grandma knows, now...

_Dale reflects on this, looking upwards at the light bulb installed in the kitchen ceiling. It has been left on, it's glow barely noticeable in the midday Sunlight. As Dale intensifies his concentration, he can hear the humming of the Electricity running through it._

_We go closer and closer to the bulb, until we faze right through the glass and end up deep inside. The small circuit glows and buzzes with whirling blue streaks of Electrical current. They come and go, quickly and violently..._

**10\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale is dressed up in his Boy Scout uniform, his tiny body fitted in time-honored olive green. He sits perfectly upright at his little work desk. Gleaming with pride, he looks over a recently composed letter, pencil still in hand. Taking up most of the space on the desk is Dale's massive reel-to-reel analog tape recorder. He flips the cumbersome switches and it loudly splutters to life. He speaks into the hand-held microphone._

DALE:

June 20th, 1968, 1 p.m. Have decided today that I am going to become an FBI Agent, and that I must begin to work very hard on my dream if it is ever to become true. Wrote Mr. Hoover a long letter explaining my plans and asked for any advice that he could offer. Letter goes as follows:

_Dale clears his throat, and then recites from his letter into the microphone._

DALE:

"Dear Mr. Hoover. Have made a decision today to become an FBI Agent at earliest possible date. I am presently fourteen years old, and on road to becoming an Eagle Scout by fifteen. Have never broken any laws, though if you look into my records you will discover that I was recently caught audio-taping a girls' sex education class while hidden in a heating vent. Do not feel this should be held against me, for my intent was purely scientific, and not for personal gain. Would like very much to come and discuss any experiences you may have had with audio-tapes yourself. Yours truly, Dale Cooper."

_Dale switches off his tape recorder, ceasing the loud, rhythmic looping of the tape reels. He carefully folds the paper in half, delicately seals it in an envelope by licking it, and attaches the necessary stamps._

**11\. EXT. COOPER HOUSE - DAY**

_Little Dale dashes out the front door of his house, letter in hand. The small, white abode stands proudly as a shrine to innocent, pre-Watergate Americana. The sounds of children playing and dogs barking promote the feeling of Summer in the air._

_Dale skips over to the mailbox, thrusts the letter in, and raises the flag. All of this is performed with overwhelming exuberance, experienced by Dale during the height of his halcyon adolescence. He looks upwards with beaming satisfaction at the cloudless sky, which is an extraordinarily vibrant hue of uninterrupted blue. We pan away from the Cooper house..._

**12\. EXT. US AIR FORCE BASE - DAY**

_We pan across the same bright blue sky many miles away over a sparsely populated area of the Mid-West. The cloudless tranquility is streaked with white trails left behind by jets making practice runs at super-sonic speed. The boom of the sound barrier being broken reverberates through the desolate desert. One of the premier fighter planes slows down as it comes in for a landing upon a long cement airstrip._

_A tall chain-link fence, laced with barbed wire, surrounds the grounds. A sign reads: "_TOP SECRET GOVERNMENT COMPOUND – KEEP OUT_". Two heavily armed Agents guard the entryway. Both men sport matching black outfits and hide their eyes behind dark sunglasses. One of the two men has a ferocious Doberman on the end of his leash, which snarls and drools in famished agitation. The hard-edged man on the left plays with a toothpick in his mouth, stretching out his jaw to twirl it around without the use of his hands. The tough looking man on the right is sucking on a bright green lollypop. An all-black escort vehicle with tinted windows pulls up beside the fence and three men get out. One of the armed guards grits his teeth around his lollypop, and it crunches, dramatically._

_Dr. ERNOLD PAYLEN __**[Dean Stockwell]**__, a thin-faced man with a pallid complexion and a small pencil mustache stashed under his upturned nose, is dressed in a white lab coat, walking along with none other than J. EDGAR HOOVER __**[Treat Williams]**__, himself. Lagging behind them, timidly, is a very young Windom Earle. The way he has his hands full of books, struggling to keep them all balanced, gives him the appearance of a studious librarian._

_They approach the two guards and flash them their ID's. After enduring matching perturbed sneers from the disagreeable Agents, they are allowed to pass with a sideways head nod. The Doberman growls, saliva dripping to the cement as they walk within reach of his fearsome jaws._

_Another jet passes overhead as they walk past the bordering gates. The concussive sound-blast echoes over the valley and the wind blows against their clothing. Windom's fedora hat is blown off of his head, and he clumsily struggles to retrieve it from the ground. Hoover pounds his chest and breathes deep._

HOOVER:

I never get tired of hearing those boys soar. Makes a man feel alive, doesn't it?

PAYLEN:

That it does, sir.

HOOVER:

How 'bout you, Earle? You like jets?

WINDOM:

Actually, sir, I've never had the privilege of being this close to supersonic aircraft before.

PAYLEN:

It's something you'll have to get used to. We work right under them, and sometimes it's damn-well difficult to concentrate. We need to work on soundproofing those office walls, Edgar.

HOOVER:

Sure. I'll scrounge around in your sector's budget and see what I can come up with. You know how much Congress loves throwing money your way, don't you, Paylen?

PAYLEN:

Yeah, yeah...

_ The group of men approach the fighter jet, which has just halted it's momentum. Out of the cockpit emerges a young, thin GARLAND BRIGGS __**[Don Davis]**__, complete with a head full of strawberry-colored hair. He descends the ladder with agile dexterity, dressed in his royal blue pilot uniform. His words are laden with prestige and regalia, and his articulation is immaculate. The four men all shake hands and introduce one another._

HOOVER:

Morning, Garland. Enjoying this afternoon's stroll with the Angels?

BRIGGS:

Mr. Hoover, sir. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? I had not anticipated another meeting until some time in the coming months...

HOOVER:

I have a special package to drop off.

_J. Edgar Hoover gestures towards young Windom, patting him on the back as he gently nudges him towards Garland._

HOOVER:

This is your new recruit. An honorary early graduation, and top of his class at Quantico. He's been working in the Federal sector for the past two years, but we thought he would be a better fit, here. Garland Briggs, this is Windom Earle.

WINDOM:

Delighted to meet you.

_Windom struggles to reach out and shake Garland's hand through his stack of books. Garland grins in enthusiastic recognition._

BRIGGS:

Earle, yes. The pleasure is entirely mine. I've read your writings on trans-dimensional gateways. Brilliant thesis, sir.

WINDOM:

You flatter me.

PAYLEN:

Flattery well deserved. We really had some heads turning after reading that, Windom. Don't know how you managed to work out the physics of that all on your own...

_Windom modestly shrugs._

WINDOM:

It just seems to me that relying on fossil-fuel powered rocket ships to travel through space is such an archaic, human method of transportation. I find it difficult to believe that higher beings would be stymied by something as petty as three-dimensional space.

HOOVER:

It's no secret that Congress have been threatening to cut our funding unless we can get some results, and fast, especially with that damn Condon Committee convincing everyone that we're gobbling up tax money without due cause.

PAYLEN:

Our own staff, here, is grossly inadequate.

HOOVER:

Which is why we needed some new blood.

PAYLEN:

Yes. We've spent an awful lot of time selecting you, Windom.

_Windom smiles with flattery._

WINDOM:

I am humbled beyond my ability to express, sir.

HOOVER:

Well, don't be too humbled, just yet. Show us some results, first, then you can celebrate. Garland? How do you feel about doing a bit of babysitting this afternoon? Showing the rube the ropes.

BRIGGS:

That might prove to be opportune! I was just heading downstairs to do a little vault perusing, myself.

**13\. INT. US AIR FORCE BASE – DAY**

_Underneath the sandy desert surface is a network of rooms and walkways used by officers of the Air Force. Although the complex underground installation is impressive, it also shows signs of inadequate maintenance and corners cut during construction; the after-effects of national budget-cutting. The four men walk down a metal gantry-way towards an antiquated elevator. The lift's doors are held open in waiting, and the shadowy interior is uninviting. Windom is filled with stomach-swelling tension as he is ushered inside._

HOOVER:

All the way down...

_Hoover dramatizes cryptically as he pushes a button marked "_BB_". The doors close and the shaky elevator gradually descends. Shadows of each passing floor wash over the faces of the men as they make their way deeper underground. No one says a word on the seemingly never-ending trip downwards. Finally, with a loud meshing of metal and wire, the lift ends it's journey, and the doors slide open._

_At the bottom floor, the men walk from the elevator to an unmarked, windowless door. Dr. Paylen presses his thumb against a scanner, which is fixed into the wall, and the sound of Electronic locks can be heard releasing. Hoover speaks to Windom._

HOOVER:

We'll need to get your fingerprints loaded into the recognition system as soon as possible. I'm sorry for the hassle of it all, but, you know, them's the breaks of being classified.

_Windom counters with optimism._

WINDOM:

I'll just think of it as a rite of passage.

_Hoover pats Windom on the back as they enter the room, and turns to Paylen._

HOOVER:

Don't you just like this kid, already?

**14\. INT. US AIR FORCE BASE, BLUE BOOK VAULT ROOM – DAY**

_Windom enters a colossal storeroom, housing rows upon rows of messily assembled files. Though disorganized, the voluminous catalog of information is astounding._

HOOVER:

Welcome to the Project Blue Book vault.

_Windom's dreams are being realized, his head is spinning at all the knowledge spread before him._

WINDOM:

Complete, uncensored access to all of mankind's documented experiences with alien contact...

_Ernold Paylen and J. Edgar Hoover smile at one another._

HOOVER:

Have fun exploring, Earle. I'm sure you're going to make us all proud. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to the office. Got some mail to read.

_Hoover wags his eyebrows up and down suggestively and leaves_.

**15\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DINING ROOM – DAY**

_In the family's comfortable dining nook, Dale and Donald are savoring their freshly prepared early morning meal, which has been set out upon the circular table. Breakfast consists of eggs over hard, cremated bacon, toast with red jam, and freshly squeezed grapefruit juice._

_Donald is sifting through the pile of postage which has collected in the oft-ignored mailbox, discarding most of the advertisements with little interest. Florence pours him a cup of hot, black coffee, from which he takes a hearty swill. He brings the cup down hard against the table with a satisfactory gulp and exclaims..._

DONALD:

Goddamn it, that's a good cup of Joe, Flo! Yes, ma'am. Oh, look here... Sears and Roebuck are having a special... 40% off their new Frigidaires. How 'bout that?

_Donald tosses the useless rubbish aside to be disposed of, later. A priority stamped envelope catches his attention. It is addressed to his son._

DONALD:

What's this now? Hey, Dale... looks like you've got a letter from...

_Donald freezes. In shock, he drops the piece of toast in his hand. We close in on the toast and watch as it goes through several acrobatic spins and twists during it's gravity-boosted descent towards the Earth. It lands on the floor with a resounding splat, sending small droplets of jam scattering in every direction._

DONALD:

It's from J. Edgar Hoover...

DALE:

Really!?

_Dale grabs across the table for the letter, ripping it from his father's hands. He rushes off to his room to read it in private._

**16\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Little Dale leaps on top of his bed, feet bouncing up on the air behind him, and opens up his letter. He reads it aloud in puerile excitement._

DALE:

"Dear Mr. Cooper. Congratulations on your esprit de corps in the taping of your sex education class. Don't let getting caught interfere with your future projects. We certainly don't here at the FBI. You're just the sort of material I wish I had more of here at the Bureau. I would like to invite you to come down on the 15th for a special tour and meet a real Agent..."

_Dale is unable to read anymore. What once were daydreams was now a reality. Dale hugs the letter to his chest and rolls around on his bed._

**17\. EXT. 10-20 EXPRESSWAY, COOPER CAR – DAY**

_The family are traveling along the 10-20 Expressway in their humble blue 1963 VW Type 3 Notchback. Donald is playing "Blue Bayou" by Roy Orbison on the cassette deck. Young Dale is sitting in the back, dressed up in his finest little black suit, shined shoes, and his first-class Boy Scout badge taped to his front pocket. Florence sits up front, carefully holding a freshly baked pound cake._

DONALD:

Yaknow, I reckon the greatest honor I ever had bestowed upon me as a child must've been when I shook the hand of Clarabell the Clown at our local shopping center.

_Donald shakes his head in whimsy and snorts out a lone chuckle._

DONALD:

But our Dale is personally invited to meet J. Edger Hoover and be shown around... Unreal. You'll remember this moment for your whole life, you know that? This is really a beautiful thing.

FLORENCE:

Like I always say, our Dale was born lucky.

_Florence turns back in her chair and holds Dale's hand._

FLORENCE:

Are you scared?

DALE:

No. Not at all.

_Florence gleams in admiration of her cherished son._

**18\. INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS, HOOVER'S WAITING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale is standing next to J. Edgar Hoover and posing as Donald snaps a photograph. Little Dale wields an automatic weapon and mocks a firing stance._

HOOVER:

Yes, that in your hand there, son, is a Thompson sub-machine gun. We used to gun down gangsters with that back in the good old days. Not anymore, I'm sorry to say. Lawyers, you know.

DONALD:

But, you still manage to "always get your man", just the same.

_J. Edgar Hoover smirks with pride._

HOOVER:

You're damn right, we do.

_After indulging another picture, Hoover leans down towards Dale. He looks him sincerely in the eyes, and the two have an intimate exchange out of earshot of the Coopers._

HOOVER:

Let me tell you something, Dale. I don't just invite folks to come down and visit my office every day. Do you know why I called you over here?

_Dale innocently shakes his head._

DALE:

No, sir. Why?

HOOVER:

Because you're something special, Dale. A real one of a kind. You've got a gift. I could sense it from your letter. You ever get that feeling inside where you know something just by sensing it?

DALE:

Yes. I get that feeling.

HOOVER:

Of course you do. Don't ever give up on your dreams of becoming an Agent. They're not just daytime fantasies. You can make it a reality, so long as you keep working hard and don't lose focus. Continue with your studies, hone your abilities, and _never_ let yourself get distracted by women. Alright? You got all that?

DALE:

Yes, sir. I've got it.

HOOVER:

Good. I hope so. Because we need you, Dale. I expect to be working alongside you someday. Is it a deal?

DALE:

It's a deal, sir.

_Hoover and Dale shake hands, then he stands upright and addresses the entire family._

HOOVER:

I'm afraid I've got to get back to work on urgent FBI matters. Just as soon as I gorge myself on this delicious pound cake you've so generously baked for me, of course, Mrs. Cooper.

_The Coopers chuckle._

HOOVER:

It was a pleasure to meet you all, and please take the rest of the day to tour the buildings. Special Agent Eiling will show you around.

**19\. EXT. FBI HEADQUARTERS, SHOOTING RANGE – DAY**

_Special Agent EILING __**[Dylan Baker]**__ is showing the Cooper family around the shooting range. Dressed in his black-suit and tie, the skittish Agent compensates for his lack of confidence by raising his voice. Lines of Agents are side by side, firing off rounds of ammunition at distant wooden targets. The Coopers are all wearing soundproof earmuffs to shield their eardrums from the gun blasts. Agent Eiling shouts over the racket, his voice cracking from time to time._

EILING:

Now, investigative deduction skills and an iron clad resolve are both essential qualities in an Agent of the FBI, to be sure! _But_, one should not underestimate the importance of expert marksmanship! I can't tell you how many times I have owed my life to this trigger finger and this steady aim!

_Eiling demonstrates in turn by wiggling his index finger, and showing how still he can keep his hand. He turns to his audience with a playful look in his eye, and adds..._

EILING:

Well, actually, I _could_ tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!

_The inappropriate content of this joke, coupled with Eiling's forceful, shouting delivery, elicits no laughter from the Cooper family. Instead they look back at the armed man with uncomfortable stares. Eiling pulls out a pen and a piece of paper, evidently his tour script, and crosses out a sentence, muttering to himself..._

EILING:

Doesn't work... Too much...

_After revising his notes, Eiling shoves the script back into his pocket, claps his hands with vigor, and tries to get his tour back on track._

EILING:

Okay! Now watch, and I'll demonstrate for you how I handle a gun in the field! Imagine that this cut out is an approaching attacker! From this range, let's see how many shots I get!

_Eiling readies his service revolver and shoots six times towards the cut out. After the smoke clears, an assistant brings the target closer._

EILING:

Alright, then! As you can see, I've made five out of six shots! Which means this assailant would have gone down, and my life would now be spared!

_Eiling kneels down to Dale and addresses him with well-meaning patronization. He does not lower his volume, despite their close proximity._

EILING:

What do you say, then, young fellow!? Would you like a chance to go toe-to-toe with an Agent!? I'll give you six rounds, and let's see how many times you can hit the bad man! Does that sound like fun!?

_Dale nods his head. Eiling brings him to the edge of the firing range and puts the gun in his hand, helping him with his grip and stance._

EILING:

Yes... And, spread your legs apart a bit... That's it! Alright! Whenever you're ready!

_Dale breathes deeply, taking a moment to clear his mind, and lines up his shot. He fires six times, each shot hitting the target with perfect precision, the final one piercing through the middle of it's heart. After the smoke clears, the assistant brings the target closer, once again. Agent Eiling is speechless. He removes his earmuffs and leans down to Dale, who discreetly offers him advice._

DALE:

You did pretty good, but I would recommend you lean in just a little bit more, that way you'll compensate for the kick.

EILING:

Lean in... Like this?

_Eiling practices a leaning stance, and Dale assists him in repositioning._

DALE:

No, a little bit more like... there. Do you feel the difference?

_Eiling aims his weapon and practices leaning back and forth._

EILING:

Oh, yes. That's much better. That's good. I see what you mean.

_The Coopers are watching from afar. Eiling stands upright again and whispers to Dale._

EILING:

Thanks, Dale! And,uh, listen... I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to any of the other Agents, okay?

_Dale holds up two fingers, forming the Boy Scout pledge._

DALE:

Scout's honor.

**20\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale is sitting in bed, his white covers pulled up snugly to his elbows. A wide smile of inspiration stretches across his face as he rereads his letter from J. Edgar Hoover for the umpteenth time. Framed up on the wall behind him are the heroic figures of Jimmy Stewart and Efrem Zimbalist, watching over Dale from above each of his shoulders like two guardian Angels. In this moment, everything in Dale's world seems warm and fuzzy, and his future full of infinite possibility._

_The smile vanishes from Dale's face when he picks up on an unusual background noise in the air... It is a deep, low, ambient rumbling. Sitting alertly upright, Dale scans his bedroom in search of the source of the noise. He finds himself inexplicably transfixed by the small table drawer on the opposite side of the room. It calls to him. As Dale intensifies his focus solely on the wooden draw pull, the deep feedback grows into an all-consuming cacophony, drowning out all other noise..._

_Utterly entranced, Dale stands up out of bed and marches hypnotically towards the knob. On his journey across the room, he throws a glance out through his bedroom window. The world beyond has gone dark and desolate, because thousands of black birds fly around in circles high in the sky, completely obscuring the Moon. Turning his attention back to the drawer, Dale's hand reaches closer and closer to the knob. A solitary noise disturbs the unnatural silence and Dale instantly freezes, his hand outstretched. Someone is turning the handle of his bedroom door..._

_Fortunately, it is locked. Dale's attention momentarily leaves the table drawer, and he tiptoes over to investigate the door. The handle jiggles back and forth several times, and then stops and goes silent. Dale peers through the keyhole, curious to see who is on the other side. For a split second, he catches a glimpse of someone so grotesque and monstrous that he pulls back with a gasp, covering his mouth with his hand. The handle shakes impatiently, and the person on the other side pushes against the door with a heightened expenditure in force. The frame creaks, threatening to eventually give way._

_Dale backs away in __fear__, not knowing what he should do to protect himself. Whoever or whatever Dale saw on the other side scratches and pushes at the door, trying to force it open. Young Dale is powerless and stands petrified in the middle of the room. For a moment, the attempted entry ceases, and a soothing, begging voice calls to Dale from the other side._

DARK MAN:

Dale... Dale... Can you hear me in there? Will you open up the door for me, please? I'd very much like to come in and see you.

_Dale backs away as he hears his name repeated in a manipulative plea._

DARK MAN:

Dale... Dale... Dale... I want you Dale... You're an extraordinary find, you are. You're special. Gifted. But, you already know that, don't you? Let me in, Dale. Please. Let me _have_ you. Let me have you before_ they_ can get to you. I want you, Dale. I want you for my own.

_A pause at first... and then the attacks against the door grow more violent then ever. The Dark Man screams insanely as he pounds unrelentingly against the door, trying to wrench it from it's hinges. The thick wood begins to crack and splinter from his fists. The man's enraged howls grow in pitch and intensity until they morph into the savage roars of a brutal, wild animal. Foreseeing no other alternative, Dale lunges for the cabinet drawer. But, as his fingers touch upon the handle, everything goes white..._

**21\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale wakes up from his horrible nightmare and breaks into another fit of asthma. He writhes around his mattress, twisting the sheets into knots around his body as he hyperventilates. After only a few moments, the door swings opens and Florence Cooper rushes to his aide. She rests her hands on his chest and head, holding his body against hers, coaching him towards regulating his breathing._

FLORENCE:

Shh... Shh... It's okay. Momma's here, Dale, Momma's here. Relax. Breathe easy, now. Your Momma's with you.

_Dale cries and gasps in his mother's arms as she gently rocks him._

**22\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_We fade to the same spot, some time later in the night. Florence is laying in the bed beside Dale, the two of them breathing normally. She is spreading VapoRub on his chest, and mother and son inhale and exhale together as one._

DALE:

I had a bad dream.

FLORENCE:

Do you want to tell me about it?

DALE:

It seemed so real. I felt like I was there.

FLORENCE:

Sometimes our dreams are real. Sometimes they're more real than life is.

DALE:

I was here, in my room. And, there was a man at the door I had never seen before. He was trying to get inside.

_Florence's eyes are far away in the distance. She is not looking at anything, but rather, she is looking into something... Distant memories she would rather not revisit... She speaks in barely a whisper._

FLORENCE:

I know that man... He visits me in my dreams, too. Did he say anything to you?

DALE:

He said that he wanted me...

_Florence's pupils return to reality. She turns Dale to face her and looks him squarely in the eyes, speaking with an intense severity he'd seldom witnessed before in his mother. It is worrisome._

FLORENCE:

Dale, listen to me. If that man ever visits you again, you _cannot_ let him into your room. Do you understand me? It's your door. You must choose to open it. Never let him in, under any circumstances. No matter _what_ he says.

_Dale nods, not understanding what he is agreeing to._

DALE:

I'll never let him in. I promise.

_Satisfied with her son's answer, Florence lays back into the bed and the two rest in silence. Dale does not know what to make of his mother's warning._

**23\. EXT. NIGHT SKY – NIGHT**

CAPTION:

July 16th, 1969

_The Moon is out in a glorious display of it's orbicular allure, almost as if it is beckoning it's imminent exploration by mankind. It floats out in a dark, starless sky, the only source of light and color in a sea of perpetual black. The cool wind blows through the trees. Each branch sways back and forth, like a creeping whisper._

**24\. EXT. MOUNTAINSIDE – NIGHT**

_On a craggy mountainside, a lone CLOAKED FIGURE stands stoically on a boulder. In his gloved hand is the Golden Cross. The relic does not appear to be religious in origin, it's cross shape instead designed for the efficiency of wielding it. It is composed of solid gold, and has many strange glyphs decorated across it's surface._

_The Cloaked Figure holds the Cross up to the Moon, charging it up with lunar energy. The Formica bead in it's head begins to subtly glow green. On the rocks in front of him, despite the fact that there is nothing flammable, a giant fire begins to rage, seemingly conjured out of nothing. Rather than run from the blaze in __fear__, the man holds his device towards it. As he waves the Golden Cross back and forth, the flames are instantly extinguished..._

**25\. INT. AIR FORCE BASE, MEETING ROOM – DAY**

_The entire staff of Project Blue Book are seated at a long conference table in their private meeting room. Situated on the furthest edge of the table is a black and white television, which is airing the live take-off footage of the Apollo 11. The men watch the history-making launch with baited breath. Once the thrusters have ignited and the craft has left the Earth's surface, everyone in the room throws their hands in the air and gives a celebratory shout. All, except Windom Earle, who downs another stiff drink._

_Most of the officers are intoxicated, bottles of champagne in their hands. The men do not act as though this was merely a celebration, however. Many of their collars are undone, their uniforms disheveled, and their spirits low. No, this is a party for burying sorrows..._

_Windom and Garland sit towards the back of the room, across the table from each other. Garland sits upright, beaming with optimism. Windom is slouched over his drink, a weary frown hanging from his lips. Their attitudes and expressions are as dichotomous as night and day. Ernold Paylen sits off to the side, his expression ever unreadable. MAJOR HECTOR QUINTANILLA, the current head of Project Blue Book,__ sits at the head of the table, his lazing head supported by an upraised palm._

QUINTANILLA:

To think... that Kennedy sonovabitch really did it... He really got us to the Moon before the Soviets.

BRIGGS:

Consider the vast frontier of scientific advances this will inaugurate. Man's first foray into the universe which lies outside this quaint, blue orb we've considered our only home for so long. This is a momentous occasion truly worthy of celebration.

_Windom smirks and raises a glass._

WINDOM:

I salute you, Garland, for being the only man I know who can unravel _any_ cluster of darkened rain clouds, and find that elusive silver lining hidden within.

_Windom clinks his glass of champagne against Garland's, and the two partake of their toast. After he swallows, Windom finishes his thought, moderately impaired by his alcohol consumption._

WINDOM:

I, however, am unable to locate any linen strands, silver or otherwise. I sit here, watching my deepest rooted ambitions of making extraterrestrial contact during my lifetime crumbling to dust. And, as if to liberally sprinkle salt into my recently opened wounds, I must now endure watching these hackneyed celebrities heading off to prance about in zero gravity and wave their flags around like a pack of uppity cheerleaders. Excuse me if I don't share in your sycophantic elation.

BRIGGS:

You really are a downer at times, aren't you, Earle?

WINDOM:

Of course, you're right. Perhaps I should follow in my dear old father's footsteps and abide by his life-long credo: "When in doubt, consume more liquor".

_Windom pours himself another glass and slinks away. Garland can only shake his head with pity, not permitting Earle's dismal vibes to lessen his own. Major Quintanilla stands before the assembly, which promptly goes quiet, and leads a toasts._

QUINTANILLA:

Project Blue Book, which we have all devoted so much of our lives to, is, as of midnight tonight, officially disbanded by mandate of the United States Government. If you'll join me now, let's look back on all the fun times we've had, and all that we've accomplished... Bupkiss! So, tomorrow we'll all be reassigned, and hopefully, get real jobs. Good luck, gentlemen, and God bless.

_At the end of Quintanilla's speech, the entire group share in a drink, after which, the Major excuses himself. Most of the officers gather at the far end of the table, near the television, hoping to get a better view of the rocket as it sails up into outer space. Paylen rises and sits next to Briggs, who remains alone at the far end of the table._

PAYLEN:

How are you coping?

BRIGGS:

Adequately, I'd like to believe. Regretful though it is that such an ancient and essential pursuit of scientific discovery, contact with extraterrestrial life, has been deemed extraneous by our country's government and no longer profitable enough to perpetuate monetary funding, I nevertheless anticipate my reassigning and intend to commit as much energy and dedication to my next endeavor as I previously have to our studies here.

PAYLEN:

Few men can pick up and begin again so easily, Garland. That's why I chose you for Blue Book in the first place. You've got real strength of character. Courage.

_With a smile, Garland holds up a hand._

BRIGGS:

Modesty forbids I allow you to continue.

PAYLEN:

Garland... I want to discuss an opportunity with you...

_Paylen looks around, shiftily, ensuring that no one else is listening._

PAYLEN:

What I am about to say is _beyond_ top secret, and cannot be repeated to anyone for any reason. Is that understood?

BRIGGS:

You have my undivided attention... and unavoidable curiosity.

PAYLEN:

I've been talking with Hoover. There's no going back. Project Blue Book is gone for good... according to all _official_ channels. But, he assures me he'll look the other way if we were to continue our research in an... _unofficial_ capacity.

_Paylen taps the side of his nose with a finger._

BRIGGS:

And, what would that entail?

PAYLEN:

A streamlined team of our very best and brightest. Right now I'm having our files transported to a derelict warehouse in the city. A few independent financiers, who wish to remain anonymous, will continue to fund our equipment. Your work would be completely without compensation, of course.

BRIGGS:

Who would be funding our operations?

_Paylen shifts in his seat, disinclined to divulge any specifics._

PAYLEN:

Some highly motivated independent investors. So, what are you thoughts?

BRIGGS:

You know better than anyone the extent of my soul which I have devoted to this project. Naturally, you can count on my continued participation.

PAYLEN:

I want the new team led by you... and Earle.

_They both look across the room at Windom. He sits alone, drinking more, lost in his thoughts. Briggs pauses for a moment before he can answer._

BRIGGS:

Are you certain, Ernold? I gather you've noticed that me and Earle do not exactly –

PAYLEN:

The man's a genius. He has it within him... I can feel it. I'm positive he's on the verge of a breakthrough.

BRIGGS:

More like break_down_...

PAYLEN:

Give him some time. I have faith in him.

_Windom finishes his drink and stands up, staggering only slightly. Paylen squints his eyes, carefully observing his every movement as Windom leaves the room via the rarely-used back exit._

**26\. INT. AIR FORCE BASE, REAR EXIT – DAY**

_Windom stands in a dark cement hallway just outside the meeting room. Despite the relatively well-furnished interior of the Blue Book offices, this hallway is squalid and dingy. The narrow walls are cracked and stained, and the filthy stairs are unevenly laid. The only source of light is an uncovered bulb which hangs from the ceiling._

_Windom Earle, distraught and defeated, is at a complete loss of where to go next. He staggers slightly and leans against the wall with one hand to regain his balance. Windom puts a crumpled cigarette into his mouth and feebly attempts to get it lit, his lighter refusing to spark. He allows a heavy sigh to cleanse some of the despair wriggling about in his stomach._

WINDOM:

Oh, Windom... You really were a very young, very naïve idealist... Setting out to make your mark on the world... But, the world just isn't interested, is it?

_Windom shakes his head and laughs in spite._

WINDOM:

I know I'm right about how they get here... but how can I find them? Where do I even start looking?

_Windom gives up on getting his cigarette lit. He also gives up on his pride. For the first time in his life, he looks up into the heavens, pleading with whomever may be listening._

WINDOM:

Please... give me a sign. Anything. Any sense of direction. This is what I was put here to do, right? Then, where do I look?

_As Windom bargains with the gods, the hum of the Electricity buzzing through the swinging light bulb grows._

WINDOM:

Show me the beginning of the path, and I will follow it to it's bitter end! Show me!

_The light bulb buzzes with an overcharge of Electricity until, finally, it bursts, leaving the room pitch black. Windom is shaken, and shields himself from the showering shards of broken glass. As he steps to the left, his foot splashes in a small puddle of liquid. He pats it a few times with his shoe, and then leans over to give it a smell._

WINDOM:

Gasoline?

_Curiously, Windom flicks his lighter again. It now lights on the first try. He uses the flame to examine the puddle of gasoline on the floor, realizing that it is part of a small trail that extends across the floor and up the wall. In a moment of inspiration, he decides to drop the lighter onto the ground and into the puddle._

_ A wall of flames erupt before him, it's tenacity sending him back in alarm. The fire quickly spreads up the wall until the entire trail of gas has been ignited. Windom stands upright, shielding his face from the fire. But, what he sees has made his heart stop. The flames have spelled out an intricate message..._

FLAME MESSAGE:

SEEK OUT THE DUGPAS

YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO FIND THE BLACK LODGE

WE BELIEVE IN YOU

_Windom stands speechlessly, reading the message over and over. The sprinkler system goes off and the flames are doused. Other former Blue Book officers, soggy from the water raining down on their heads, rush in behind Windom to make sure he's okay, but he does not move. He just stares at the wall, face and body becoming drenched in water, mind committing the message to memory as it vanishes forever. Windom's prayers have been answered..._

**27\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY**

_Florence stands over the stove, skinning tubers in preparation to be dropped into the bubbling broth of her famous potato and leek stew. Simultaneously, she is talking on the telephone, the receiver held between her jaw and shoulder._

FLORENCE:

Oh, I know just what you mean... You should see Dale! It's like all of his little science fiction comics have come to life. The way he's been floating around the house, you'd think he was up there with 'em. Exactly! Well, I think it's a great idea! I'll tell him right away. Alright, see you then.

_Florence places the phone back up on the wall, and calls for Dale, who is in the next room._

FLORENCE:

Dale! The Schlurmans are going to be joining us tonight for the Moon Landing!

_Dale leans around the corner into the kitchen. On his head is a make-shift space helmet constructed from a cardboard box and some aluminum foil. It is not terribly convincing._

FLORENCE:

Bradley says he's bringing beanbag chairs so you can all practice walking without atmosphere. Doesn't that sound like fun? And, _Marie_ will be here...

_At the mention of Marie, Dale coyly looks towards his mother, and then looks away. Noticing this, Florence smiles, but says nothing._

FLORENCE:

Would you go tell your father that supper is almost ready?

**28\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale runs around the corner and out of the kitchen. But, before rushing off to find his father, he leans against the wall and emits a __love__sick sigh._

DALE:

Marie...

**29\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY**

_As Florence goes back to peeling potatoes, she feels a sharp pain in her head. Leaning against the stove, she rubs her temple. Unexpectedly, a stream of blood drizzles out of her nose and drips onto her hand. Florence wipes it away, her heart speeding up as a dreadful premonition takes hold. But, she puts a brave face back on and continues working on supper._

**30\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_The Coopers and Schlurmans are gathered in the den, watching the Moon landing on their small black and white television set. Dale is playing with BRADLEY SCHLURMAN, a goofy looking teenager with long, gangly limbs, and MARIE SCHLURMAN, the appealing girl-next-door that Dale lusts after, complete with a full head of curly, carrot-red hair. The three kids are jumping around on the beanbags, doing their best to simulate space-walking._

_Donald Cooper and JEFFERY SCHLURMAN __**[George Dickerson]**__, a gentle man who constantly smiles benignly under his balding noggin, are sitting on the couch and eating peanuts. Florence Cooper and ELAINE SCHLURMAN are sitting beside them. Florence is having difficulty getting into the spirit of the evening, and appears exhausted._

NIEL ARMSTRONG:

That's one small step for a man... One giant leap for mankind.

DONALD:

Now that's a hell of a quote for ya. Atta boy, Neil!

SCHLURMAN:

I still can't wrap my mind around this. We're living in a world where we can just go from one planet to another... Unbelievable.

DONALD:

Believe it, Jeff. It's a beautiful thing.

SCHLURMAN:

I mean, look how long it took them. Kennedy said ten years, and sure enough... ten years later, there they are. Christ, at this rate, we'll be to Jupiter by 1995!

BRADLEY:

I'm going to be an astronaut, dad!

SCHLURMAN:

Sure thing, Brad.

BRADLEY:

I mean it, dad! It's my dream!

SCHLURMAN:

Son, I support you by not supporting you.

DONALD:

Look at them walk! Isn't that unreal?

ELAINE:

It's almost poetry, isn't it?

DONALD:

Gad. It's like watching ballet on ether.

_As everyone has their eyes glued to the television, Marie sneaks twitterpated glances towards Dale. Yet, whenever he looks back to meet her gaze, she turns her focus back to the set. Even though she gives off the impression of youthful innocence, Marie is acutely aware that her every movement reels Dale in like a trout on a hook._

_ Florence gets up from the couch and announces her departure. She doesn't look like she's feeling all that well. Her skin is fairer than usual and red rings circle her eyes._

FLORENCE:

Alright, space jockeys. I think it's time for me to head off to bed. I've got a killer headache.

_Elaine stands up and puts her hand on Florence's head._

ELAINE:

Yes, that's a good idea, dear. You look like you could use a good rest. Here, I'll see you off.

_After a delay, Donald answers Florence without his eyes leaving the screen. It looks like some gears are churning inside his head._

DONALD:

Alright, honey. Sleep tight. Look at how beautiful those craters are... Wouldn't you just love to have one of those in your backyard?

_Donald's eyeballs explode in epiphany. He leaps off of the couch, standing upright in the center of the room. Speaking quickly, he throws his arms out wildly and walks in a small circle. His fingers wriggle back and forth, as if he is grasping at invisible fish swimming through the air._

DONALD:

Wait a minute... Wait a minute... Something's coming here! Something's flowing into my mind! I'm getting an idea! No one distract me! No one distract me!

_While the men are all distracted, Marie picks up one of the beanbag chairs. She meets Dale's eyes and motions, ever so subtly, for him to follow her. She slips out through the sliding glass door into the backyard. Dale looks around to make sure that no one is watching him, and then follows her._

DONALD:

This is it... This is it... I've found my calling!

SCHLURMAN:

What the Hell is it, Don?

DONALD:

I am going to map the surface of the Moon... and then sell it as real estate!

**31\. EXT. COOPER HOUSE, BACKYARD – NIGHT**

_The warm Summer breeze blows delicately through the blades of green grass that blanket the Coopers' modest lawn. Marie is already laying flat on her back in the cushy beanbag, staring straight up into the stratosphere. To her right, there is ample empty space upon the plush lounge seat to accommodate another..._

_With only a momentary hesitation, Dale settles down next to her, his tiny body flopping into the folds of the beanbag. Both youngsters lay in silence, needing nothing more, for the moment, than the astronomical view and the company of each other. Directly above them is the Moon, occupying it's space in the night sky with purity and radiance. Looking at it from the Earth, they imagine they can almost see the brave men who are walking across it's surface at that very moment. Marie whispers..._

MARIE:

Dale, do you ever think about me... you know...?

_Dale swallows nervously, contemplating every facet of the question before answering._

DALE:

I think so.

_Marie rolls over to face him, practically touching his ear with her lips as she speaks._

MARIE:

I think about you...

_Dale nods, having no idea what to say in this kind of situation, it being his first. He does the best he can..._

DALE:

… Good.

MARIE:

I didn't understand it until I saw men walking on the Moon, but I believe God has a plan for everyone, and we are part of it. Do you understand, Dale?

DALE:

I think I do.

MARIE:

Are you sure, Dale?

DALE:

I am.

_Marie sensually takes his hand in hers, and squeezes. She inches her face ever closer to his. Then, she speaks..._

MARIE:

Pray with me, Dale.

_Marie closes her eyes and prays. As the girl lays unmoving and unresponsive at his side, lost in religious reverence, Dale looks upwards, horrified, trying desperately to think of an excuse to go back inside._

**32\. EXT. HIGHWAY – DAY**

_Cars whiz irresponsibly fast through a neglected highway. A black crow is hopping up and down along the side of the road, rummaging through a bag of litter that has spilled open, shifting through compost and refuse with it's beak. Dale is walking along the narrow ditch, dressed in his Boy Scout's uniform, doing his best to not muddy his trousers. He carries an enormous pack on his back and a rifle in his hand._

_Dale's attention is drawn to the crow, eying it with a hunter's intent as it scrounges about in the rubbish. After a moment, the black bird notices him, and the two lock eyes. The creature of flight senses the danger the wandering biped poses and takes off into the air. Dale aims his weapon and keeps the crow in his sights as it glides further and further away. All background sound ceases. The cars go silent as they pass by. All we can hear is Dale's heartbeat, pulsing through his ears, it's rate beating faster and faster..._

_Dale pulls the trigger. An explosion propels the bullet through the air as it rockets off towards the distant bird. It tears though the crow's chest, killing it instantly. The black body spirals to the ground, the feathers ruffling in the wind._

_As sound returns, Dale dashes down the highway and examines the bird. He lifts the limp body up with one hand, the beaked face dangling backwards on a rubbery neck. He does not look upon his fresh kill with satisfaction. Rather, it is an undefinable mix of emotions..._

**33\. EXT. FIELD – DAY**

_Dale is sitting crisscrossed in the tall, brown grass of a field, which is situated not far from the highway. Erected beside him is his gargantuan reel-to-reel tape recorder, which he'd been carrying in his bag. He speaks into the microphone as the reels noisily record._

DALE:

July 25th, 1969. 3:00 PM. Killed an animal today. A crow. One clean shot as it circled overhead, searching for a road kill. Have never killed a living thing before, not counting insects. When it was hit, it began to tumble as if it had been tripped. The tumbling stopped and it fell straight down like a wet shirt. I ran to where it fell into the tall grass and picked it up. I do not know why I shot the bird. At the moment I squeezed the trigger it seemed that the only two things in the world were the crow and myself. And now, there is just me.

_Dale turns off the tape recorder and solemnly gazes down at the brown grass. As Dale sits alone in the field, we fade out..._

**34\. EXT. DARK FIELD – NIGHT**

_Once more, we are in the dark, isolated dream field. Our perspective resting just above the ground, we quickly travel across the grass' dewy surface until we approach the old, wooden house and enter through the window. Florence is standing alone inside, dressed only in her white, flowing nightgown. It is silent in the dim, cold room, save for the creaky settling of the rotting floorboards. The air is thick with visible specks of dust that dance through the air._

_Florence approaches the window and looks outside. She sees no birds flying in the sky, but neither is the Moon there. Nothing awaits her beyond the house but a perpetual void of desolate black. She senses whatever lingering hope remained inside her fading away, and is overcome with the defeatist urge to crawl into a corner and give up. A gentle knocking sounds at the door. Florence hesitantly nears and peers through the keyhole. She sees that it is the Dark Man. He taunts her wickedly with his lilting voice._

DARK MAN:

Good evening, Florence. As I've no doubt you're already aware, I've been to visit Dale. He told you, didn't he? And, what was your maternal counsel, I wonder? To never open up that door, no matter what persuasive offers I entice him with? Easier said than done, my dear. His defences aren't nearly as strong as yours. I think I can coax him into turning that lock, given time. That's all it will take, you know. A simple twist of the wrist... and he's mine.

_Florence bites her lower lip, panic setting in as she weighs her options, the safety of her son her only priority. Knowing that he is successfully getting through to her, the Dark Man chuckles._

DARK MAN:

Is there anything else as fervently unyielding and, yet, tediously predictable as maternal instinct? Now, then... I propose a deal. If you open up and let me in, like an obedient little trollop... then I'll agree to keep your son's dreams forever off-limits. I'll never pay a late night visit to him, again, so long as he shall live. You're savvy enough by now to know that I _must_ obey the Rules, aren't you? What do you say?

_Desperately, Florence goes to the dresser drawer and opens it up. Laying inside is the Golden Ring. The Dark Man's insincere banality vanishes and he pounds against the door with an inhuman strength, screaming in a deep, demonic roar._

DARK MAN:

Let me in!

_ Allowing only one final moment of consideration, Florence opens the drawer, removes the Golden Ring, and puts it on her finger. Knowing what it will mean, Florence unlocks the latch and opens the door to the old house. With the Ring equipped, Florence readies herself for the oncoming confrontation. Her hand is held outwards in a fist, the Golden Ring facing forward as if it were a weapon. A bright, white light awaits her..._

**35\. ****INT. COOPER HOUSE, FLORENCE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Florence opens her eyes, the lingering traces of white light fading from her irises. Blood silently oozes out of her nose, ears and eyes, coating her pale skin with a crimson red glaze. As she dies, Florence softly utters her final words..._

FLORENCE:

I love you, Dale.

_Donald stirs next to her, having just been awoken._

DONALD:

What was that, Flo? Flo? … Flo?

_Donald rolls over and gently nudges Florence. Her body shakes like a rag doll. Realizing that something's wrong, Donald turns on the bedside lamp. After the room floods with light, Donald finds the fair skin of his wife's round face coated with a layer of blood, resembling a morbid candied apple._

DONALD:

Florence? Whats wrong!? Oh my God, no! Florence! Don't do this!

_Donald tries in vain to revive her, slapping her face and continually shaking her._

DONALD:

No... Please, wake up, Flo... Please, wake up...

**36\. INT. UNITARIAN CHURCH – DAY**

_Dale, dressed in his best black suit, is sitting somberly in the pew next to his father. Various friends and family are all in attendance, and a UNITARIAN MINISTER is speaking at the front of the congregation. Dale listens without much interest. There is no casket or body, but rather an urn full of ashes._

UNITARIAN MINISTER:

Florence's time here on Earth may not have been especially long... But it was extraordinarily full. Everyone who was privileged enough to know her could testify to her caring nature and the overabundance of love she held towards her friends and her family. And so, while her physical form may no longer be with us, it is important to remember that the spirit lives on. I invite you all, now, to come forth and say goodbye to Florence. However, I urge you not to think of it so much as a goodbye forever... but as a pledge that we will all see each other again one day.

_Dale rolls his eyes._

**37\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, FAMILY ROOM – DAY**

_A wake is being held at the Cooper home. Mostly everyone from the funeral is there, eating food and chit-chatting. Irritatingly cheerful music plays from a record player, and UNCLE AL is in the corner, entertaining a group of children with his magic tricks. He wears an all black suit, top hat, and a small cape with red interior. Beside him is a sign the reads "_Alexander Alakazam!_". Uncle Al puts his hand inside of his mouth and pulls out an entire deck of cards, flicking them together. The children boisterously cheer him on._

_Donald is sitting on the sofa, concerned friends and family offering him words of encouragement. Dale sits nearby, unable to accept the kind words. He gets up and sulks into the corner, attempting to seclude himself. Marie follows him. The well-intended young girl takes Dale by the hand and gives him the best advice that she can._

MARIE:

I know it seems hard now, Dale... But, try to remember that Florence is actually very fortunate, because she is in a better place! She's up with God right now, and –

DALE:

Marie... I know you mean well, but honestly, if you say one more word, I'm going to knock your Goddamned teeth out.

_Marie is left in speechless, wide-eyed aghast, and slowly backs away. Behind her, Uncle Al puts a hand into the air and snaps his fingers, a bright spark igniting in a blinding flash, wafting smoke into the air._

**38\. EXT. RIVERSIDE – DAY**

_Dale and his father stand by the riverside. Beyond the horizon ahead is a glorious Sunset, washing the sky in a lush palette of orange and pink. Donald carries the urn which holds Florence's ashes. Without exchanging a word, the two remaining Coopers take turns tossing handfuls of ash into the river. They watch it dilute into the stream and get swept out to sea. Small trout weave to and fro, riding the current. After the urn has emptied, the men continue staring ahead for some time, never looking at one another. All they can hear is the trickling and splashing of the running water._

DONALD:

In a few weeks, ice will start to form on the banks. A month or so after that, the stream will freeze all the way across. If we stood in the same place, then... we wouldn't hear a whisper.

**39\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT**

_Dale is laying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. A million different thoughts swarm through his head, and all of them are bad. The lamp on his bedside table is turned on, adding soft lighting to the room, but failing to reach the far corners. The only sound is the soft buzzing of Electricity. As Dale continues gazing upward, his eyelids grow heavy, fluctuating between open and closed like a pair of swinging doors. After a brief battle for cognizance, Dale finally succumbs to sleep._

_ The bedside light dims as the flow of Electrical current intensifies, and a deep hum fills the air. A giant circle of bright, white light shines down from an unknown source over Dale's little body, spotlighting him against the blackness of the room. At the foot of his bed stands Florence Cooper._

_She looks exactly as she did in the dark field, with long black hair and smooth, pale skin. She wears a flowing, white nightgown that gently blows in a non-existent breeze. The apparition stares __lovi__ngly upon the face of her slumbering son. Sensing that he is not alone, Dale slowly opens his eyes and registers what stands before him. In disbelief of his own senses, he jolts upright with a fright._

DALE:

Mom... Is that really you?

_Behind a pragmatic smile, Florence speaks slowly and softly._

FLORENCE:

Yes it is, Dale.

DALE:

… How?

_Florence simply shakes her head, disinclined to elaborate on any technicalities._

FLORENCE:

I have a message for you. I had to come back to tell you something.

DALE:

What...

FLORENCE:

You need to seek out love in this life, Dale. Don't grow cold, and don't give up. Keep searching until you've found it. And, if someone tries to take love away from you, fight for it. Fight for it until the very end. Love will give you all the strength you'll need. No matter what happens, never give in to fear.

DALE:

I'm afraid right now...

FLORENCE:

Don't be. There's nothing to be frightened of. You're a very gifted person, Dale. And one day you will be called upon to do something very important.

DALE:

I don't understand...

FLORENCE:

You don't need to understand, now. You have a long time, yet, to gain understanding.

_Florence has both of her hands cupped into a closed fist. She holds them up._

FLORENCE:

I have something for you.

_Florence walks over to Dale, moving so effortlessly it appears as if she's floating. She takes his hands in hers and an item exchanges. Her eyes grow momentarily severe._

FLORENCE:

Wear this... Never take it off. And, never tell another soul where you got it from. _Never_.

_As she says "never", her words echo with importance. _

FLORENCE:

Promise me.

_Dale's lip quivers. He is barely understanding her instructions, still overcome with grief._

DALE:

Why did you leave me?

_Florence floats backwards, once again smiling. She answers simply and casually._

FLORENCE:

Because I love you. I'll see you again, one day. And by that time, you will believe me that love is worth dying for.

_With that, Florence Cooper fades away. So does the light and the deep humming sound. The lamp brightens and the room returns to normal. Dale opens his eyes and awakens from sleep. As he sits up and glances around the room, he realizes that it was only another dream._

_But, then he opens his hands and gasps. Inside them, resting in his palm, is the Golden Ring. Dale is shocked, because he knows that he did not have it when he went to bed. He stares at the simple object in his possession, unable to comprehend it's existence. In desperation, Dale jumps out of bed and dumps the Golden Ring into his bedside drawer, locking it in with a small key. He sits down on the floor and tries to get his mind straight..._

**40\. EXT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT**

_In an otherwise empty valley of middle America, above a relatively small government building, stands a massive radio dish, 70 meters across. It is aimed up towards the ever-distant starry sky._

**41\. INT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT**

_The interior of the station is filled with walls of computers and monitor screens, reading out a constant stream of unintelligible space jargon. Other than the high tech hardware, the station is lacking in any comforts or furnishings. Two RADIO MONITORS __**[Scott Coffey &amp; Mel Johnson, Jr.]**__ sit lazily at their control seats, drinking hot coffee to keep themselves alert and engaging in small talk. The first monitor is reenacting a lewd scenario with illustrative hand-gestures._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

So I had her up on the kitchen table, right? And, she was bent over backwards, facin' me with that perfect peach... just beggin' for it...

RADIO MONITOR 2:

Yeah, I bet she was. Fine thing like her.

RADIO MONITOR 1:

Right. And, so, I was all ready to go, but, all of a sudden, she goes, "honey, I wanna try something different tonight"...

RADIO MONITOR 2:

Damn! Those Romanian girls are wild...

RADIO MONITOR 1:

So, she grabs the corkscrew, looks me dead in the eyes, and says –

_An abrupt change in the readout on the display screens has caught the attention of the second radio monitor. He leans forward to examine the data._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

What is it? What's wrong?

RADIO MONITOR 2:

We just got a major spike in frequency. Look at these transmissions we're picking up.

RADIO MONITOR 1:

What sector?

_As the first radio monitor waits for a response, the second is double-checking the readout, having difficulty believing what he is about to say._

RADIO MONITOR 2:

It's not coming from space... It's coming from the Earth.

**42\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY**

_Dale sits alone in his domicile's breakfast nook, sporting bloodshot eyes cushioned by dark black bags. He silently sips from his piping hot cup of early morning coffee. The young man is under the trance of someone suffering from the residual effects of sleep deprivation. Every so often, he sneaks a paranoid glance over his shoulders. After Dale is satisfied with his caffeine intake, he sets off towards the attic._

**43\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, CRAWL SPACE – DAY**

_The crawl space is cramped, dusty and dangerous. Dale balances on the support beams of the ceiling below, searching through the family's collection of nicknacks and memorabilia that are stored in their makeshift attic. He has found a large box of photographs of his mother, dating back to when she was young and single. As he flips through multiple photos, he comes across one of Florence in her late teens, taken during the 1950's. She is laughing with a group of friends. On her finger is the Golden Ring that he was given in his dream. Dale lowers the photograph and contemplates possibilities._

**44\. EXT. COOPER HOUSE – NIGHT**

_Donald Cooper stands out on the roof of his house, peering through a telescope. A drawing-desk has been hastily set up and nailed into the roofing. He looks up at the Moon and painstakingly maps out details of it's geography onto a chart. Dale crawls out the upstairs window and onto the slanted roof, using the shingles as handholds, joining his father. Donald is delighted to see his son._

DONALD:

Oh, hey there, Dale. Come out to join your old man for a bit of lunar terrain-scaping?

DALE:

Sure did, father.

DONALD:

Take a look-see through this telescope. It's really a beautiful thing to behold.

_Dale silently and unenthusiastically glances through the magnified lens at the Moon's surface. He sees the rich tapestry of craters, but is quickly satisfied and pulls away._

DALE:

May I ask you a question?

_Donald answers as he returns to his work._

DONALD:

Of course. You can always ask me anything. You know that.

_Dale exhibits the photograph._

DALE:

Do you ever remember mom wearing this ring?

_Donald takes the photo from Dale and scratches his chin as he examines it._

DONALD:

Hmmm... Let's see, now. I think she used to wear it back when we were first dating. That's right, it used to be her mother's. Her father had given it to her after she'd died. But, she stopped wearing it when we got married. I wouldn't be surprised if it's been long lost. Why on Earth do you ask?

_Dale shifts uneasily as he lies, an act he is unaccustomed to._

DALE:

Oh... I just feel like I've seen it before. I was going through old pictures of mom and I came across it. Guess I got deja vu. Thanks anyways, though.

_Dale begins crawling towards the window, but stops when he hears his father call._

DONALD:

Dale. You know we're going to get through this, right, son? We lost your mother, but we still have each other. She wouldn't want us to fall apart without her. So... we'll just keep at it, right?

DALE:

Right...

_Without looking back, Dale crawls in through the window. Donald looks up at the Moon._

**45\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Cooper sits on the floor of his bedroom and buries his face in his knees. He keeps staring up at his locked dresser drawer, not knowing what to do, and terrified of confronting the reality of what's locked within..._

**46\. EXT. PROJECT BLUE BOOK WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_Considerably less impressive than the Air Force's underground installation that housed their previous headquarters, the location now serving as Blue Book HQ is little more than a big empty warehouse within which they are renting space._

**47.**** INT. PROJECT BLUE BOOK WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_Garland Briggs, Windom Earle, Ernold Paylen, and a few fellow members of Project Blue Book sit around a table in the big, empty storehouse. Stacks of crates and boxes form towering divisions throughout the massive repository. Despite their unofficial surroundings, the men remain professional. Paylen stands at the head of the table, leaning against the edge on stiff arms. He slides a series of dossiers across the surface, urging the other Agents to review them._

PAYLEN:

Last night, at just after 0200 hours, something miraculous occurred. Our radio monitoring station intercepted the most complex deep space frequency ever recorded by man. Remarkably, however, it was not transmitted _to_ the Earth... but _from_ the Earth _into_ deep space.

_Windom and Garland look up from their folders in wonder._

BRIGGS:

Oh my Lord...

PAYLEN:

It originated from somewhere on the Western coast of the United States. Unfortunately, because our monitoring systems were so ill-equipped and unprepared, we were unable to pinpoint it's precise location.

_Windom rolls his eyes._

WINDOM:

Well, there's that, then.

_Paylen leans forward, his grandeur growing._

PAYLEN:

This was _not_ a failure. This was a great leap forward. We have learned exactly what frequency we've been searching for. If it is _ever_ emitted from the Earth again... we will be ready.

_As we hold on Paylen's fanatical determination, we fade to black..._

**48\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM – DAY**

CAPTION:

July 1st, 1970

One year later

_Dale sits at his table, drolly narrating into his whirring reel-to-reel tape recorder._

DALE:

July the first, 11:00 am. Just learned that dad has agreed to go on a trip with the Schlurmans up to the Poconos. Have examined various ways to get out of it, but all seems bleak at the moment. He's packed the Scrabble game. Marie has packed her Bible. I am doomed.

**49\. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – DAY**

_A colorful wooden sign welcomes all newcomers and informs them that they have arrived at "_Promised Land Lake_". A hand-painted Sun smiles down from the top corner, wearing dark shades. The lake itself is fairly wide with a steep embankment. The opposite side is quite a ways off. The sound of children and laughter echos across the water._

_The Coopers and the Schlurmans are enjoying a cookout on their side of the lake. Donald is dressed in khaki shorts and a baggy white apron which reads "_Kiss Me I'm Scottish_". He's roasting wieners on a old, blackened grill. Behind him is the rustic wooden cabin which the neighboring families are renting. Just beyond the cabin is nothing but groves of dense woodland. Dale and Marie, dripping wet in their swimming gear, have both just waded out of the lake. Mr. Schlurman and Bradly are passing a volleyball back and forth._

_Dale stands on the edge of the lake and peers across. On the other side are four morbidly obese women, each clad scantily in a miniscule bikini. They parade around the shore, giggling, shouting and playfully pushing one another, their bountiful deposits of fat waving and bouncing in gravity-defying gyrations. Dale shudders. Donald shouts to the gang as he lays out the plate of buns._

DONALD:

Hot wieners are ready! Come and get them!

_Bradley and Jeffery show up first, greedily snagging three hot dogs each and ravenously plopping spoonfuls of potato salad onto their paper plates. Marie grabs one of the roasted wieners and looks Dale right in the eyes as she viciously skewers it. He winces, unsure of the implication._

_Dale looks back across the lake. The fat women are still dancing, and Dale is still trying to ward off their visage from permanently staining his subconscious._

_But, off to another side, laying on the grass just above the embankment, is a MYSTERIOUS CAMPER. He is dressed in camouflage and a ski mask, and perversely spies on the family through a pair of binoculars. Dale looks at this voyeur, feeling understandably unsettled. The Camper sees that Dale has noticed him and lowers his binoculars. He raises his hands in a friendly "sorry" gesture and heads off into the woods. Dale still feels uneasy, but brushes it aside and heads off to gorge himself on the barbeque..._

**50\. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – DAY**

_Mr. Schlurman wrenches open a wooden crate with a crowbar. The sides of the crate fall open to reveal a hefty artillery of deadly explosives. Bradley and Mr. Schluman both joyously cheer, while Donald warily squirms._

MR. SCHLURMAN:

Take a gander, boys. We've got firecrackers, bottle rockets, roman candles, sparklers... And to finish...

_Jeffery holds up a much coveted firework about the size of a small tree trunk._

MR. SCHLURMAN:

This one's called the "Big Kahuna". It'll reach all the way to the Moon.

BRADLEY:

Bitchin'...

DONALD:

Jesus Christ... We're gonna burn down half the woods. You know that, right?

MR. SCHLURMAN:

Hey... All in the name of patriotism, Don.

**51\. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – NIGHT**

_The three men are boarding the overloaded row boat, setting off to take it into the middle of the lake. It is so heavily weighed down with fireworks that it looks like it could capsize at any moment. The men search for an empty spot in which to sit. Marie and Dale, fully dressed, stand back and speak to them from the shore._

MR. SCHLURMAN:

All aboard who's going aboard!

MARIE:

Us kids are staying ashore!

_Dale glances around, confused, quickly realizing that "us kids" was comprised of just the two of them. Marie throws a manipulative smile his way._

MR. SCHLURMAN:

Suit yourselves. You can watch the spectacle from a distance!

DONALD:

Probably the wisest course, all things considered...

_The men cast off and wave goodbye. Once their shaky, heavy boat has rounded the corner beyond the treeline, Marie and Dale meet eyes. Without a word, Marie darts off into the woods like a jackrabbit. Allowing her only a few seconds of lead, Dale gives chase. He darts through branches and whizzes past trees in a breakneck pursuit. Wrapped around a tree limb, he sees Marie's shirt. A bottle rocket explodes somewhere nearby._

_ Dale passes Marie's Bermuda shorts, and then a shoe. He hears the crowd of onlookers exclaiming excitement at the explosions off in the distance through the rough. Dale passes by a sock hung from a branch. Around the corner, he sees Marie standing perfectly still. Dale abruptly halts his pace, his shoes digging up dirt as he fights his momentum. Marie removes her bra and turns to face him. Completely involuntarily, Dale removes all of his clothing as he walks towards her, never taking his eyes off of her body. The two stand chest to chest._

MARIE:

Do you believe in God?

DALE:

I most certainly do.

_Marie smiles and kisses Dale's chest as she slides her way down to his waist. Though she is below our view, it is clear that she is engaging in some form of pleasurable activity involving his external male organs. Dale closes his eyes, grins, and tilts his head upwards. But, just as she can barely get started, a giant rocket cuts it's way through the branches above and impales itself into the ground just 10 yards to their right. Dale has only the chance to glance at it and emit a disappointed sigh before it explodes._

_The concussive blast knocks them both backwards, and a barrage of sparks and projectile blasts litter the air. Streams shoot to the left and right of them. Dale throws his arms out, trying to shield Marie with his body. Yelling safety instructions proves ineffective because the loud screeching and explosions are so deafening that they drown out Dale's words. As the two naked, frightened children stand up, they find themselves surrounded by a rapidly growing forest fire._

_Dale turns, ready to protect Marie with his life, only to see her already running off into the distance, screaming, having clearly abandoned him. Dale turns to follow, but the fire spreads quickly and blocks all directions, including the path which Marie had just escaped through. With what little of Dale's clothing remains, he vainly attempts to fan away the encroaching flames._

_Dale glimpses one of Marie's tennis shoes on the ground and snatches it, as it is the only clothing article that has remained without being incinerated. Out of the corner of his eye, Dale spots a lingering hole in the circle of fire. He darts towards the exit space and leaps through it, barely managing to avoid the flame as it nicks his bare bottom. His nude, blackened body scurries off towards water._

**52\. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – NIGHT**

_Donald is disembarking the rowboat with the other two men, every last firework gone. He sees Dale standing ashore, naked and ashen. He is using Marie's one remaining shoe to conceal his genitalia. Donald stares at him, blankly._

DONALD:

Where are your pants?

DALE:

… Wildfire.

_Donald nods. Silence for a beat._

DONALD:

Fire is a very dangerous thing, and not to be taken lightly.

DALE:

Yes, sir.

_Donald walks past his naked son._

**53\. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – DAY**

_Donald is loading up the VW Notchback, preparing to head home, while the Schlurmans are staying behind in the cabin. Before Dale joins his father in the car, Marie approaches him._

MARIE:

I'm sorry you're going back into the city...

DALE:

So am I.

MARIE:

Thank you for saving my tennis shoe...

DALE:

You're welcome.

_And with that, Marie skips back down to the lake, laying herself out on a floatation device, reading from her waterproof Bible. Dale looks at her miserably from the car window as they drive away. As the blue vehicle shrinks off into the distance, we slowly fade..._

**54\. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – DAY**

_We fade in to the same spot, a couple of days later. Marie is out on the lake, resting atop her floatation device, engrossed in her religious texts. Her father and brother, dressed up in hiking gear, call out to her as they leave._

MR. SCHLURMAN:

Marie, honey! We're going off for a hike in the woods! You going to be alright on your own!?

MARIE:

Yes, dad! Have fun!

_Marie is now alone. As she lay on her back atop the gently lapping water, it occurs to her just how alone she actually is. No one else currently resides along either side of the massive lake, despite the fact that the weather is particularly nice out. The air is eerily silent, even though every day previously it had been filled with joyful laughter. At this moment, she can hear only the wind whistling through the rustling branches of the surrounding trees. A chill shoots down her spine and the young girl shivers. For some reason, Marie's attention is suddenly drawn forward. Off in the distance she can see a dark, looming shape..._

_Something is watching her from the opposite edge of the lake. It isn't a person. It's a primal, savage form. It is the BLACK DOG. The creature is much larger than any dog she's ever seen. Foaming bubbles of saliva drip out from between it's sharp teeth as it growls. It's eyes glow a dark red and fixate upon her. Although the distant figure frightens her, Marie cannot decide whether it looks dangerous, or whether it looks sad. Whatever it's feeling... it's intent is to watch her and not to help her. A pervasive dread taking hold of Marie's instincts, she decides to abandon the water and make her way back to the shore._

_As she slides off of her floatation device and turns around, she freezes up. Standing above her at the height of the embankment is the GAS MAN. He is tall and thin with long, boney limbs. His frame is completely clad in an all-black leather bodysuit, and his face is concealed under a gas mask. Cloaked around his shoulders is a small, black cape. He stares down at her, soullessly, from behind reflective lenses. She cannot see his eyes, and is faced only with her own terrified image staring back at her, mirrored in his mask._

_Marie screams in abject horror. Before she can form words to ask what he wants, the Gas Man flings his black cloak behind him with his elbows and reaches out with his arms as he steps forward. Marie slowly treads backwards through the water, but the man advances upon her at a steady pace. As soon as the Gas Man steps into the water, Marie can feel the lake getting hotter. By the time he is waist deep, the water has begun bubbling. The floatation device pops from the heat, sending air jetting out through the puncture, and it shoots across the lake's surface._

_With nothing left to turn to other than divine intervention, Marie protectively holds up her Bible and cowers behind it. Not remotely deterred, the Gas Man wrenches the Bible from her grip. Holding the holy book out at arm's length, it spontaneously erupts into flames. The lenses of his mask fixate on the young girl as he flicks the charring embers away._

_Marie's mind loses it's sanity as her senses are overwhelmed with __fear__. She shrieks at the top of her lungs until her voice breaks. The Gas Man seems to relish this, and grandiosely clutches both sides of her head, forcing her to look straight up at him. As the __fear__ builds in her face, it begins to literally emit itself as a yellow steam. The poor girl's tormentor inhales the yellow gas into his mask. More and more __fear__ is sucked out of her until her wailing dies down to a murmur, and she is left in an emotionless haze._

_After extracting the amount of __fear__ he sought, the Gas Man violently grabs Marie by the throat and repeatedly bashes her head against a nearby rock. Her skull cracks and a portion of her brain is exposed through a sift in her cranium. Still alive, but suffering from massive blunt trauma, she stares up at him with empty, unaware eyes._

_The Gas Man reaches into his cloak and pulls out a red-hot branding iron. He lifts Marie out of the water and scorches his mark onto her bare chest. The symbol now scarred into her flesh reads "_CARNUM_". And with that, he throws her body face first into the lake, successfully drowning her and staging it like an accident. As the girl bobs up and down on the water's surface, the Gas Man stomps back up the incline. Across the lake, the Black Dog, who has seen all, quickly retreats off back into the woods._

**55\. INT. THE RED ROOM – TIMELESS**

_Music fills the air inside the Red Room. The floor is a black and white zigzagged marble, and the four walls which confine the room are made of red curtains which hang down from the sky. The LITTLE MAN __**[Michael J. Anderson]**__ sits at his sofa and eagerly rubs his hands. He is dressed in an all-red suit and black shoes. The Gas Man stands before him at attention. Levitated in the air beside him is the body of the Mysterious Camper, who remains in a neutral sleeping state, oblivious of his predicament. The Gas Man lifts his head back. Out of his gas mask, streams of blood spray upward like a sprinkler. The shower of blood fountains all over the room, forming a crimson pond on the floor. After settling for a moment, the blood is then absorbed into the Red Room._

_The Little Man smiles, and we cut to an extreme close-up of his mouth as he consumes a spoonful of Creamed Corn with devious satisfaction. The Gas Man watches the dwarf enjoy the benefits of his own handiwork without comment. Despite the Little Man's diminutive stature, it is clear that the Gas Man is entirely submissive towards him._

_In another section of the Red Room sits the Fountain. Constructed from gray stone, the Fountain features a tall head and surrounding basin. Scribed across it's head are a series of ancient glyphs. The Fountain was previously dry for some time, but it begins flowing steadily with a reservoir of blood once more. The MAGICIAN __**[Jonathan J. Leppell]**__ and the GRANDMOTHER __**[Frances Bay]**__ watch from afar, standing side by side and holding hands. She is an old woman wearing a fancy black dress, and he is a small child in a black suit. As they watch the Fountain fill with blood, they are equally filled with futility and despair. They whisper to one another in strange, backwards voices._

GRANDMOTHER:

Patience.

MAGICIAN:

J'ai un ame solitaire.

_The Magician looks down at the item he is holding in his hands. It is a snowglobe with a Sycamore tree in the middle and a small, blue bird perched atop a branch. Flaky bits of confetti styled after snowflakes are swirling around the glass in a tempest of glitter. The young boy shakes the globe vigorously, and when he ceases, all the snowflakes are resting dormant against the base._

**56\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT**

_The wind rustles through the Pine boughs of the Pacific Northwest. HEINRICH LANTERMAN __**[Jurgen Prochnow]**__, a tall, rugged woodsman with a bushy red beard extending to his waist, is chopping away at a towering Oak tree. His plaid work shirt is thoroughly stained with sweat. He pauses from his toil to wipe the accumulated beads from his brow._

_High above him, nearly buried in the low-pitched whistle of the whipping wind, he hears a hooting. Staring down at him from high in a nearby Pine tree is a Giant Horned Owl. It watches him intently, sizing the woodsman up with it's beady, little eyes. Struck with paranoia, Heinrich casts a nervous glance over both of his shoulders. The Owl's attention is drawn elsewhere, and it takes off in flight, deep into the woods. For some reason, Heinrich is compelled to follow..._

**57\. EXT. GLASTONBURY GROVE – NIGHT**

_Heinrich makes his way through a path in the dark forest, following the journey of the immense bird. Swatting a prickly branch of Pine needles aside, he steps into a clearing. Henrich recognizes the circle of twelve Sycamore trees that make up Glastonbury Grove. In the center of the legendary marker is a smaller circle of white stones which surround a hole in the ground._

_Heinrich leans over and is faced with an occurrence that is difficult for him to fathom. The hole in the center of the Grove is slowly filling up with a thick, black oil. The oil is not bubbling up naturally from any underground deposit, but rather, it is being created from nothing. Feeling the need to capture this unbelievable phenomenon, Heinrich pulls out a jar of drinking water from his work pack, pours out the contents, and fills the jar with a sample of the oil. Sensing that he may be in danger, he leaves._

**58\. EXT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT**

_The immense dish is still aimed towards space, receiving invisible waves of radio from otherworldly, but unresponsive, sources._

**59\. INT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT**

_The two Radio Monitors are sitting at their stations. One of them has two blackened eyes and a collection of cuts and bruises running along his face. The second man looks at him curiously, finally addressing the elephant in the room..._

RADIO MONITOR 2:

What happened to you, man? You don't look so good...

_The monitor sighs._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

Don't ask... That Romanian bitch is fucking crazy...

_A beeping captures their attention. The long awaited signal of the Earth-based transmission is intercepted once more. The two men scramble about, fiddling with buttons and levers, checking the display screens._

RADIO MONITOR 2:

It's back! The signal is back! Call Doctor Paylen!

_The first radio monitor clumsily fumbles for the phone. He only has to press a button, and it automatically dials the priority number._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

Sir? Yeah, it's us. We've got another transmission originating from the Earth's surface. We've pinpointed it's precise location. Yes.

_The radio monitor looks at the readout as he speaks._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

It came from Washington state, sir. Near a town called... Twin Peaks.

**60\. EXT. HIGHWAY 21 – DAY**

_A hand painted sign on the shoulder of Highway 21 reads "_Welcome to Twin Peaks - Pop. 4,250_", and features a depiction of the dual mountain range the city is situated below and named after. Upwards, behind the sign, towers the actual Blue Pine and White Tail Mountains, far more monumental in reality than their teensy pastel counterparts._

_A Federal issue car drives past the wind in the road. Garland Briggs is driving, Windom Earle is riding shotgun, and Ernold Paylen sits in the back. Windom has his window rolled down and leans his head out, the breeze blowing his hair back._

WINDOM:

"In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,

Where waterfalls around it leap forever,

Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river

Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves"

_Windom breathes deeply, inhaling the tonic aroma of the great outdoors._

WINDOM:

My, oh my! Would you smell those Douglas Firs! Certainly reminds a man of his place in the world to abandon civilisation and lose himself in an untamed expanse of woodland such as this...

_Windom leans back into the vehicle, shaking his head in awe at the subtle wonders of life._

WINDOM:

I haven't been to the country in such a long time...

_Paylen smiles with a nostalgic familiarity._

PAYLEN:

I was born out in the country. Been living in the city far too long... Sure is nice to be back.

WINDOM:

These woods... There's just something about them, isn't there?

_Windom's companions nod in agreement._

BRIGGS:

What, then, is our course of action, gentlemen?

WINDOM:

We find some bucolic breeding ground for local colour and ask around about strange lights in the sky?

PAYLEN:

According to my contact, there's a diner in the center of town. We could chat up some of the locals, get a lay of the land. And, uh... could anyone else use a cup of Joe?

_Garland and Windom both exhale an enthusiastic "awh, yeah!" as the car continues down the tree lined highway._

**61\. EXT. DAVEY'S EATS – DAY**

_The heavily frequented and well-worn diner sits in the center of town. To describe the eatery as 'rustic' would be mercifully polite. To label it as a 'dive' would be far more accurate. Under the sizzling neon sign is the illuminated promise of "_GOOD FOOD!_"._

_The Federal issue car pulls into the mostly filled parking lot. A large logging truck passes by as they park, it's mammoth uprooted lumber rocking back and forth as the rusty chains struggle to hold them in place. The men slam the car doors, eager to fill their caffeine needs, but somewhat apprehensive over the state of the place._

WINDOM:

"Davey's Eats". Well... How... organic.

**62\. INT. DAVEY'S EATS – DAY**

_The squeaky doors open and the trio are greeted with the twangy country &amp; western stylings of "Walking After Midnight" by Patsy Cline, which pipes out of the jukebox. The floor is stained, the booths sticky, and the silverware inadequately washed. The patronage of the diner are mostly old timers, the majority of them sitting alone. An overweight and remarkably unattractive woman named PHYLLIS is behind the counter. Three empty stools beckon them at the front of the bar._

_The men seat themselves side by side, hands folded expectantly on the bar's surface. They patiently wait for the unappealing woman to notice of them of her own volition. She does nothing of the kind, completely lost in her own world. The others being too polite, Windom speaks up, raising his hand so as to be caught in her peripheral vision._

WINDOM:

Excuse me, Miss...

_She takes notice of Earle's well-meaning gesture, silently approaching them with a down-turned scowl on her soggy, deflated face._

PHYLLIS:

Uh-huh?

WINDOM:

We were just hoping to get some service, Miss...

_For far too long, a silence rests in the air as she stares, vacantly. She looks down at the name tag pinned to her apron, almost as if she needed to check in order to verify._

PHYLLIS:

Phyllis.

WINDOM:

Phyllis. Yes. Well, we were simply passing by your diner, here, and felt ourselves suffering from parched throats. We thought perhaps you could offer us something with which to quench ourselves?

PHYLLIS:

What's that? Are you cracking wise, boy?

_Phyllis reacts quite defensively, and a panic-stricken Windom tries to calm this disagreeable member of the service industry._

WINDOM:

No, no, no... Not in the least. We're just looking for something to drink. We did walk into a restaurant, right?

_Phyllis stares back, blankly. Garland interjects as politely as he can muster._

BRIGGS:

We'd like three coffees, if you wouldn't mind.

PHYLLIS:

You ain't gonna ask me to split the check up, are ya? 'Cos I can tell you right now, I ain't got time for that bullshit.

_Garland and Ernold are speechless._

WINDOM:

Is there any chance we could get another waiter? How 'bout that gentleman in the corner? Might that be Davey?

_Windom points to a very fat man in the kitchen who is dipping his hand into the bubbling pot of soup and licking the stew off of his freshly scalded fingers._

PHYLLIS:

No... that's Dusty.

WINDOM:

Davey has the day off, does he?

PHYLLIS:

There's no Davey that works here...

_Phyllis gives Windom a strange look, as if that were a bizarre assumption to come to, and walks off towards the back counter. She disappears around the corner. The sound of hot pouring liquid follows. After the sound has ceased, she remains for a curiously long extra few moments, then she finally returns into view with three cups in hand, filled nearly to the brim. The song on the jukebox finishes, and the diner goes silent, waiting for another patron willing to sacrifice a dime..._

PHYLLIS:

How do you take it?

WINDOM:

Black.

BRIGGS:

Black.

PAYLEN:

White.

_Phyllis rolls her eyes as she adds creamer to the third cup. The cream is of a noticeably gray color. She slides the cups in front of the three men and walks away without a word._

WINDOM:

Thank you so much for your courteous service.

_Phyllis throws them an insincere smile. Garland, Windom, and Ernold simultaneously take hearty drinks from their coffee, their right elbows pointing outwards with precisely symmetrical coordination, and lower their glasses on the table, three clinking sounds becoming one. They each reconfigure their faces into distorted expressions of distaste and nausea, exchanging looks of dissatisfaction and growing concern._

_A denim-garbed trucker stuffs a dime into the jukebox, and it rustles around within it's internal machinery as it prepares another song. A warm, gravelly voice to the Agents' left pipes up, speaking slowly and commanding their collected attention._

PETE:

You boys aren't from around here, are ya?

_A young PETE MARTELL __**[Jack Nance]**__ is sitting down the counter from them. He wears a plaid shirt under olive green coveralls, and hides his amber brown hair under a wrinkled, green fishing hat. His bushy mustache sits atop a rubbery smile._

BRIGGS:

What gave us away?

PETE:

Because, if you were from around here, you'd know that Phyllis spits in the coffee of people she doesn't like.

_All three men, who had been contemplating partaking of a second drink, are frozen in wide-eyed horror. In unison, they slowly push the cups down the counter, out of reach._

PETE:

The coffee here's not much to speak of anyways. Nor the food, for that matter. And, what they do to pie... should be considered a capitol offense. I only come here 'cos it's about the only place I can hide from the missus.

_Pete enjoys a hearty laugh, then permits a lackluster sigh._

PETE:

I wish someone would open up a really nice diner here, someday. But, if it's good coffee you're after, I recommend the Great Northern Hotel.

_Pete extends his hand. The three men, already enjoying Pete's warmth, gladly exchange formal pleasantries._

PETE:

Pete Martell's the name. I'm in the lumber trade. Vice president up at the Mill.

BRIGGS:

Garland Briggs.

PAYLEN:

Ernold Paylen.

WINDOM:

Windom Earle.

PETE:

So, what brings you three gentlemen to Twin Peaks?

_The "three gentlemen" look at one another, checking with their eyes whether they should allow Pete into their circle of trust. Once the consensus seems reached, Garland speaks frankly._

BRIGGS:

Were you in town last night, Mr. Martell?

PETE:

Last night... Well, yes... Why?

BRIGGS:

Did you happen to see or hear anything out of the ordinary?

WINDOM:

Specifically, coming from the woods?

_Pete crinkles up his chin and furrows his brow as he sifts through his recollections._

PETE:

Well... nothing specific. I think old man Remlinger was rummaging through our trash cans again, but that's about it. Although... there was one thing... come to think of it... Some of the boys working the late shift last night said they saw a bright light out by Pearl Lakes. Not sure if it was natural or artificial, but they said it was damned bright. What's all this about, anyways?

_The men look at one another, and Briggs relies on their cover story._

BRIGGS:

We have reason to believe that some unusual wildlife may have been introduced into the local ecosystem which may pose a danger to the indigenous fauna.

_Pete eyes them suspiciously._

PETE:

Say... are you government boys?

PAYLEN:

As a matter of fact, we are.

PETE:

Hmmm... Don't get too many Feds out this way. I hope it's nothing too serious.

PAYLEN:

Everything should be wrapped up pretty soon.

PETE:

Well... in that case, I'll wish you gentlemen good luck, and make my way back to the daily grind. Been a pleasure.

_Pete shakes their hands once more as he gets up._

PETE:

Remember, if you get a chance before you leave... Coffee at the Great Northern. Black nectar flowing on high from Mount Olympus.

_Pete raises his hands, poetically, and laughs heartily as he leaves. Now left to their own devices, the triad form a close circle and speak in soft voices._

PAYLEN:

Strange lights shining into the night sky? That matches the report from Buenos Aires. Where are these Pearl Lakes, Windom?

_Windom pulls out a map of the area._

WINDOM:

It looks like it's quite a ways out there. No direct roads. There might be a path off of Highway J that cuts through Ghostwood National Forest.

_Garland refers to the map himself, nodding in concurrence._

BRIGGS:

It would appear as though we'll be traipsing through the rough the old-fashioned way. Ah, well. A stroll through the countryside can do wonders...

PAYLEN:

Outstanding. Garland, if you'd like to head out to the Lakes and see what you can uncover, then... We can probably make progress fastest if we operate separately. I'd like to meet up with my contact.

WINDOM:

Just who is this contact of yours, anyways?

PAYLEN:

He's an old air force buddy that works at Unguin's Field Observatory to the South of town. He might be able to offer us usage of his equipment.

_The two seem satisfied with this explanation._

WINDOM:

If you don't mind heading solo, Garland, there's an angle I'd like to investigate first. I've got a hunch.

BRIGGS:

What sort of hunch?

WINDOM:

I'd rather not say, unless it pans out. If I come up blank, why don't we meet at 1900 hours and share our findings? Over a cup of coffee at the hotel?

_They nod, agreeing to the plan. As they prepare to leave, a cold feeling sets over Windom._

WINDOM:

The race is on, then, gentleman. Good luck. And be careful. I can't shake the feeling that we're here tonight for a reason... That we're meant to witness something...

**63\. EXT. LANTERMAN CABIN – DAY**

_The wind whips through the branches of the trees, leafs rustle together, and pines spread apart. Birds flutter from branch to branch, searching for something to shield them from the wild currents of air. All concerned parties pray that it is not an ill wind that blows this day..._

_A marvelous cabin is isolated deep in the woods, cut off from the outside world. It was hand-built by it's inhabitants, sporting several rooms and a spacious outdoor deck. Heinrich Lanterman walks out through the front door, his boots scraping against the clutter of dead leafs which have blown up onto the porch. He has a heavy jacket wrapped around himself and is equipped with an ax in hand. He walks quickly, his mind set on fulfilling his objective, but also distracted by something tugging at his subconscious._

MARGARET:

Heinrich! Haven't you forgotten something?

_Heinrich stops in his tracks and looks back at the cabin behind him. He sees his wife, MARGARET LANTERMAN __**[Catherine E. Coulson]**__, standing in the doorway. She is young and pretty, her long hair a burnt auburn, and thick, red glasses adorning her face. She dresses conservatively and looks as though she seldom leaves their private world inside the cabin. Heinrich speaks softly and playfully in his thick Icelandic accent._

HEINRICH:

Let me think... I've got my axe, my hat, my jacket, my lunch... What could I be missing?

MARGARET:

You forgot to kiss me goodbye.

_Heinrich slaps his forehead in exaggeration._

HEINRICH:

Ó Guð minn, but you're right! How could I ever forget something so important?

_Heinrich lumbers up to the porch, grabbing Margaret's petite body with one arm and lifting her up into the air. Her soft skin rubs against his scratchy beard as they embrace. He lifts her back down and carefully places her onto the porch. Her honest eyes reveal that every ounce of him makes her melt with desire, and that she wants nothing more out of life but his presence._

MARGARET:

Must you work today? Must you work everyday? When can we celebrate our honeymoon? When can I have you all to myself?

HEINRICH:

Ástvinur... You knew the man you were marrying. You knew how many hours we would spend apart.

MARGARET:

And every lonely day is worth the wait, just for your return to me at night.

HEINRICH:

Only one day has passed since our eternal bond. Do not feel so hasty. We have our entire lives together to anticipate.

MARGARET:

You're right... It's only...

_Margaret looks downwards, __fear__fully._

MARGARET:

I woke up this morning with a horrible feeling in my soul. I sense that some burning dread is on it's way to visit Twin Peaks today, and no one will be the same after it's passed...

_Heinrich smiles and dismissively rubs her cheek._

HEINRICH:

Oh, honey... You are always saying things like this. I will be fine. I will work. And then I will come home. Just like every day. Do not worry so.

MARGARET:

I'll miss you.

HEINRICH:

Then go to your wedding gift on the mantle. I gave it to you to keep you company while I am away. Whenever you miss me... look upon your wedding gift and know that I am near.

_Heinrich marches off into the thick forest. Margaret watches him until the last possible second when he vanishes from view. She then retreats to the sanctity of their cabin._

**64\. INT. LANTERMAN CABIN – DAY**

_The luxurious interiors, all made of wood, give the cabin the feeling of an impenetrable security. Margaret walks over to the enormous fireplace. Above the mantle is a small shrine with a plaque that says "_To My Wife_". Above it is placed a Log, felled from a Ponderosa Pine. She touches it with reverence and longs for her husband's safe return._

**65\. EXT. COUNTY MUSEUM – DAY**

_A small bout of rainfall has picked up, as is commonplace in this part of the country. The County Museum is a fairly simple building, lavishly accentuated with a Native American tribal motif. Two twin totem poles of Chinook design border the doorway. Windom Earle jogs up to the front doors, his overcoat pulled up high to shield his face from the rain._

**66\. INT. COUNTY MUSEUM – DAY**

_The museum is replete with a vast collection of paintings, artifacts, and dioramas depicting the local history of Twin Peaks. Glass cases house products of taxidermy and whittle-work alongside Blackfoot and Chinook carvings. The walls are adorned with pictures of historical sites, as well as paintings donated by local artists._

_An OLD WAITER __**[Hank Worden]**__ is snoring loudly in the corner, siting upright on a stool. He is tall and thin, and is showing signs of dementia. His long, skinny neck and rounded head give him the appearance of a lethargic vulture._

_Windom walks up to the front counter. The proprietor, MILFORD MERTZ __**[Blair Bruce Bever]**__, is also a decrepit old man, so short that his head barely rises above the counter top. He squints up at Windom through two-inch thick bifocals._

WINDOM:

Hello, down there!

_Mertz strains desperately to hear Windom, cupping his hand to his ear, but it is of no use. Windom speaks loudly and slowly._

WINDOM:

May I come in!? I was hoping to have a look around!

MERTZ:

EH? WUZZUH?

WINDOM:

MAY – I – COME – IN!?

_Mertz nods up and down in understanding. He slowly bends over and rifles through the drawers of the front counter. Windom stands there, patiently, looking down at the old man and raising his eyebrows as he wonders what on Earth he could be doing. As he waits, Windom throws another glance towards the Old Waiter sleeping in the corner, who's distracting guttural snores splutter drool down his chin._

_Mertz slowly makes his way back to a standing position and brings his hand up to Windom's eye level, showing the precious item that he had previously been rummaging around for. In his hand is an open tin of ancient, decomposing sardines._

WINDOM:

NO! NO! THANK – YOU – NO!

_Windom shakes his hands, trying to indicate to the man that he is not interested._

WINDOM:

NOT – "FISH"! I – SAID "I – WANT – TO – COME – INSIDE"!

_Mertz dips his fingers into the tin and pulls out a piece of rotting fish, reaching out as if he is attempting to feed it to Windom by hand. Not interested in wasting any more time trying, in vain, to establish communication with the owner of the museum, Windom spots a collection box labeled "_Donations_". He digs around in his pocket and drops a few coins inside._

WINDOM:

OKAY! THANK YOU! I'M – GOING – IN – NOW!

_Perplexed, Mertz sets about the lengthy process of replacing the tin of fish back to where he retrieved it from. Windom examines the items on display carefully and with vested curiosity. He has a vague idea of what he is searching for, but nothing specific. He notices a particularly ugly and unsettling wooden carving of a Monkey. It is carved out of birch, and appears to be of Blackfoot origin. Something about it gives him an odd feeling. Maybe it is the eyes... they have no pupils. Windom feels sick just having seen it._

_Windom turns his attention to the pictures up on the wall and approaches one depicting a regal theater. ATTICUS TREMAYNE __**[Patrick McGoohan]**__ walks up behind him and offers an explanation of the picture. Atticus is an Englishman who carries a bloated air of self-importance and speaks in a crisp, booming voice. He walks with a cane, and his fashion sense is impeccable; he wears a striped scarf, wrapped around his Tweed waistcoat. His hands are tastefully fitted in white gloves, and spats cover his shoes._

TREMAYNE:

Marvellous, isn't it? The Old Opera House. Built in 1882, a design loosely based on the architecture of Robert Smirke, it was one of the largest opera houses in the state. Sarah Bernhardt, the Divine One herself, inaugurated it's first performance. Ah, yes, it was quite the pride of Twin Peaks' high society, until it was tragically destroyed in a fire in 1896. Crying shame. Still...a beauty in it's day, what?

_Atticus gestures to a picture of another opera house nearby on the wall._

TREMAYNE:

The New Opera House was built in 1916 and stands to this day. Certainly an inferior design. American, you know.

_Atticus pompously chuckles to himself. Windom does not join in the laughter, though this does not seem to deter or even register to the host._

TREMAYNE:

Is it the theatre you're an appreciator of, or is it architecture, Mr...?

WINDOM:

Earle. Windom Earle. I try my best to verse myself in all manner of esoterica. And, who might you be, sir?

_The two gentlemen shake hands._

TREMAYNE:

Tremayne. Atticus Tremayne. Pleasure. I assist the museum with tours on weekends. I trust you've already met the proprietor, Mr. Mertz?

_Windom glances back towards the old man, who is holding the Electrical cord of a vacuum cleaner and dipping the end into a cup of coffee._

TREMAYNE:

It's just a spot of fun on the side, really. Elsa Eisenbuch runs the tours on weekdays, though she doesn't speak any English...

_Atticus chuckles with himself once more, and then exhales a sigh._

TREMAYNE:

Fascinating city, this Twin Peaks. Despite being buried out here in the rugged terrain of the far West, it manages to maintain a certain elegance all of it's own. Why, just look here...

_Atticus draws Windom's attention to a picture of a large, white Grange Hall building._

TREMAYNE:

The Grange. Built in 1904, it was quite truly the grandest edifice ever to grace this town. For half a century the Patrons of Husbandry gathered inside, sharing space with the Sheriff's office and the Chamber of Commerce. Quite a crowded establishment in it's prime. President Truman, himself, paid a visit in 1948 and spoke on the front steps. Regrettably, in 1953, the building burnt to the ground. A roaring inferno of smoke and flame consumed every last marble tile and steel beam, leaving naught but ash in it's wake... and in the middle of a snowstorm, no less... They determined that arson was the cause, but no one was ever convicted...

_Tremayne's tone goes cold, and he can almost see the fire in his distant eyes._

TREMAYNE:

Many people lost loved ones that night... I'm afraid our little town of Twin Peaks has quite a reputation for fires... Often ones that spring up out of nowhere...

_Tremayne's tone finally returns to pleasant, if patronizing._

TREMAYNE:

So, what brought you into the museum today? Sheer whimsy?

WINDOM:

Partially. Myself and a couple colleagues are just passing through on a business venture. The work we do primarily appeals to spiritual communities, and I was curious as to the religious make-up of this town.

_Atticus walks while he talks, leading Windom along._

TREMAYNE:

Ah, I see. Well, Twin Peaks actually has itself quite a diverse religious secularisation. While the Caucasian populace is predominantly Christian, naturally, many Native American residents regularly practice their indigenous tribal religions, the most prominent of these being the Blackfoots. Take a look at this rather disturbing example of Blackfoot carpentry. Quite wondrous, is it not? What do you make of it?

_In the corner of the room is an ominous rendering of a moose. It is over ten feet tall and carved out of White Birch. Windom's heart momentarily stops as he examines the demonic piece of art. It appears, to Windom's puzzlement, that a great deal of time was spent detailing that the moose is skinless. Veins, muscles, and organs are all sculpted intricately on the beast's outer layer. Windom looks into it's eyes. Despite the fact that they are lifeless blocks of wood, he makes out sadness, lonesomeness and sorrow in it's melancholy stare._

TREMAYNE:

The White Moose. A persistent character in local folklore, the mysterious and sacred White Moose has been described in detail by tribes and early settlers alike. Legend has it that, occasionally, on a Moonlit night, out on a craggy hillock in Ghostwood Forest where an 85 foot Ponderosa Pine stands, the iridescent spectre of a white, skinless moose will appear to those with troubled minds...

WINDOM:

What does it want? … According to legend, that is.

_Tremayne's speech has grown ominous..._

TREMAYNE:

None can say for certain. Though the area where it's been sighted was the scene of the grisly Moose Massacre of 1787, where several dozen trappers herded more than fifty moose into the marsh flats and exterminated them, scalping the hides and antlers, and leaving the remains for vultures and rot. Indeed, settlers insisted that the unmistakable stench of death wafted over the valley for years to come. There are some that say the White Moose, drained of the blood of it's brothers and sisters, appears to those in trouble because it understands sorrow and despair. But there are others, still, who claim that the White Moose appears out of rage and an insane lust for revenge, looking for those to blame for the wholesale extermination of it's kin, and pity the poor fool who meets it alone on a dark night...

_Tremayne returns to his normal speaking voice._

TREMAYNE:

All I know for certain is that it's one ugly bugger, and no mistake.

_Letting the strange and unnecessary diversion rest in silence for a beat, Windom speaks up, hoping to persuade Atticus to lead him in the direction of his investigation._

WINDOM:

Actually, to be more specific... I was curious whether there was much of an occult presence in Twin Peaks?

TREMAYNE:

Cults, eh? In fact, there is a small local religion who call themselves the Circulars. Though I must admit, I am wholly unfamiliar with their beliefs. They largely keep to themselves.

WINDOM:

Do they have a Lodge here in town?

_At the word "Lodge", the Old Waiter in the corner wakes up._

TREMAYNE:

Yes, they do. I can get you the address, if you'd like.

WINDOM:

That would be extremely helpful, thank you.

TREMAYNE:

Not at all. Just one moment...

_Atticus excuses himself and walks off towards the front counter to write down the address. Mertz is on his hands and knees, trying to plug the dripping wet vacuum cleaner cord into the dangerous Electrical wall socket. Without even looking, Tremayne pulls the cord out of the feeble old man's hands, absentmindedly saving him from instant death by Electrocution. Befuddled, he grumbles as he struggles to stand back upright._

_Rising from his stool in the corner, the Old Waiter steps forward and slowly meanders over to Windom. His wrinkly face composes a goofy smile, and he speaks in a dull but perky voice._

WAITER:

I've heard about you...

_Windom does his best to be cheerful and tolerant of the insane man._

WINDOM:

Oh, you have, have you? And, what have you heard, prey tell? Nothing bad I hope.

WAITER:

I've heard about you...

WINDOM:

Yes, we've established that. Any chances of further elaboration...

WAITER:

There's two of you...

WINDOM:

Two of me? Oh, dear. Best not tell my mother. I'm certain she found one of me difficult enough to handle.

WAITER:

There's two of you... But, we only need one...

_The Old Waiter smiles and gives Windom a thumbs up. Windom smiles and returns the gesture. The Old Waiter waddles back to the corner as Tremayne returns._

WINDOM:

What engaging elderly folks you have around these parts...

TREMAYNE:

Hmm? Oh. Yes, indeed. They're an absolute hoot.

_Atticus' declaration drips with sarcasm. He hands Windom a piece of paper._

TREMAYNE:

Here is the address. I've no idea what their hours might be like. Do be careful, though. These Circular chaps are a bit... "iffy".

WINDOM:

"Iffy"?

_Atticus leans forward and whispers..._

TREMAYNE:

"Iffy".

_Windom gestures a thanks and excuses himself out the front door, examining the paper. Atticus watches him leave, and the Old Waiter pipes up from the corner._

WAITER:

I've heard about him...

TREMAYNE:

Oh, do shut up!

**67\. EXT. HIGHWAY J – DAY**

_Garland Briggs is walking along Highway J, which runs through Ghostwood National Forest. Light drizzle falls from the gray clouds, dampening the asphalt. Garland is suited only in his blue pilot uniform, which offers no protection from the wet, and his hair begins to slick. He strains to keep his spirits up, but something about the treeline nags at the corner of his consciousness. Garland senses that the road itself is relatively safe, but if the outer barrier of forest were to be breached, there would be no telling what dangers would await him inside._

_A lone chickadee perches in a nest high atop a Pine tree. It appears to have worked hard constructing the nest all on it's own, but Garland notices it looks particularly lonesome all by itself. He reflects on how difficult life must be for such a creature to go through alone..._

_Glancing upwards as he walks, Garland fails to notice a small decline in the side of the road, and momentarily stumbles as he steps into it. Regaining his momentum in time to prevent himself from falling into the mud, Garland examines the ditch more closely. A short ways into the woods, jutting off from the decline, is a small natural underpass made of rocks that leads into an underground passage. Garland gives a final glance at the long-stretching road ahead, which leads further away from his intended destination, and decides to investigate._

**68\. INT. UNDERGROUND PASSAGE – DAY**

_Garland trudges cautiously through the cramped underground passage, crouching to avoid bumping his head against the ceiling. There is not much dirt in the passage, but all around him is a circumscribed tunnel of craggy rock. The sound of dripping water echos in the musty, confined space. Though the pathway seems too specifically bored to be natural, if it was man-made, it must have been constructed a long time ago._

_Garland notices a small alcove in the rock to his right, and pauses to examine. In the alcove he finds a pile of ash, a cracked, scummy mirror, and a scrap of paper. The ritualistic items look as though they've been left untouched for years, long since forgotten by whomever placed them. Garland examines the crumpled note, smoothing it out and wiping the dust off. It has a message written out in blood..._

BLOOD LETTER:

FIRE WALK WITH ME

_Disturbed by these words, but baffled as to their meaning, Briggs tucks the paper into his inside jacket pocket and continues forward. Far ahead of him, he can see natural light seeping into the tunnel._

**69\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – DAY**

_Garland Briggs pulls himself out of the underground cavern, brushing the dirt off of his pristine, blue flight suit. He has resurfaced somewhere on the edge of Ghostwood Forest. Tall Douglas Fir trees tower over him, and the ambiance of light rain trickles through their countless Pine needles. Off through the clearing to his left is an open expanse, and he can see the Pearl Lakes far off in the distance. The cluster of freshwater opals offer tranquil serenity to the landscape. A few Summer homes are spread around their circumferences. Garland knows that he is near to his destination._

_A faraway noise abducts Garland's attention into the undergrowth. It is a discordant, griding monotony. He hears it repeat every few seconds, the sound racing through the woods, being split by the trees. Garland's hair stands up on the back of his neck and shivers seize the entirety of his spine. Compelled against his will to follow this sound and determine it's source, Garland launches himself into the forest. His eyes partially closed, he follows his ears through the rough and loses himself between the trees as he hones in on the reverberant slicing..._

_Garland rounds a corner and finds Heinrich Lanterman. The woodsman stands beside a giant fallen log, which is suspended above the ground via two wooden constructs. He scrupulously saws through the center of the lumber, back and forth, back and forth. This is the origin of the hellish sound. Briggs, standing back a ways, shouts a friendly salutation._

BRIGGS:

Good day, there!

_Heinrich ceases his sawing and throws up a hand in a lackluster salutation._

HEINRICH:

Good day, yourself.

_Realizing that conversation is inevitable, Heinrich moves on to the far quieter process of loading up his previously cut wood, which litters the forest floor._

BRIGGS:

My name is Garland.

_Though he is polite, the woodsman offers no warmth to the stranger, nor does he lesson the speed of his work._

HEINRICH:

Mine's Heinrich.

BRIGGS:

Magnificent craft, lumber. Such a taxing field of work, and yet it must offer you ample piece of mind...

HEINRICH:

Always nice to hear an appreciative voice. Ever been in lumber, yourself?

BRIGGS:

No, no. Merely voicing my observations. Are you an immigrant, by any chance, Heinrich?

HEINRICH:

I come from Iceland, yes.

BRIGGS:

May I ask what brought you all the way from Iceland to Twin Peaks? Not the wood, surely?

HEINRICH:

Wood is a beautiful thing, sir. It has a life all of it's own, and it has much to say within it's many circles. But, no, it was not just the wood... Love brought me here.

BRIGGS:

Ah, love. Man's most powerful motivator.

HEINRICH:

Very true, my friend. And, even though I live amongst the trees, far away from bustle of city life, I can still tell that you are not a local. What is it that brings you here?

BRIGGS:

Curiosity.

HEINRICH:

Curiosity is just as powerful a motivator as love... but it seldom ends well.

BRIGGS:

If experience has taught me anything, neither does love.

HEINRICH:

Then you have not experienced true love. My condolences.

BRIGGS:

You may be right, at that...

_Garland chuckles in good nature._

BRIGGS:

I'm looking for the Pearl Lakes. I saw some bodies of water through the clearing. Am I on the right trail?

HEINRICH:

That's right. You can reach them on foot from here.

_Heinrich points._

HEINRICH:

Just head North. There's not much of a trail, but you'll manage.

BRIGGS:

Many thanks.

_Despite having received his directions, Garland remains standing for a moment, watching the woodsman._

BRIGGS:

Do your shifts often extend to evenings?

_Heinrich, interested in ending this line of inquiry as soon as possible, faces the government Agent and addresses him pointedly._

HEINRICH:

Is there something you'd like to ask me, Mr. Garland?

BRIGGS:

Living out here in these woods, did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary last night?

_Heinrich breaks from his work and hesitates for an unnaturally long period of time..._

HEINRICH:

No. I did not.

BRIGGS:

Are you certain?

HEINRICH:

I'm sorry, my friend, but I have nothing to tell you.

_Heinrich's delivery implies that it is his final say on the matter. Garland contemplates, but realizes that there is no way he can force the issue._

BRIGGS:

Fair enough. Thank you very much for your time, Heinrich.

_As Garland watches Heinrich continue to load up wood, an OLD HAG wanders up to them from out of the brush, steadying her limp with a crooked walking cane. She is dressed in dirty, ashy rags and her face is sooty and blackened. Around her neck hangs a small Christian cross made from gold. She holds a wet piece of cloth against her right eye._

BRIGGS:

Ma'am? Are you alright? Is there something I can help you with?

_The Old Hag does not speak, only fixating on Heinrich with a manic, hysterical eye. The woodsman tries to avoid her gaze and concentrate on his work. After enduring several uneasy moments of her goggling, Garland is left puzzled as she turns around and slowly limps back into the forest without a word. Heinrich sighs and mutters something to himself..._

HEINRICH:

Ást er þess virði að deyja fyrir...

BRIGGS:

I beg your pardon?

_Heinrich wields his massive saw and resumes his incessant slicing, offering no explanation. Unable to further bare the sound, Garland heads off towards the lakes to continue his investigation. Heinrich tries to bury his feelings, but the Old Hag's appearance has deeply upset him. A solitary tear slides down his cheek before it is absorbed into his beard._

**70\. EXT. CALHOUN HOSPITAL – DAY**

_A white 1964 Opel Kadett__ pulls into the parking lot of Calhoun Memorial H__ospital, a surprisingly high-tech and well-staffed medical facility for a town with such a small populace. BETTY TURNER __**[Charlotte Stewart**__] remains in the driver's seat after stopping the car. She is a young woman with perfectly straight blonde bangs which run parallel above her gorgeous, wide eyes. She wears a formal dress of light blue and pristine white gloves._

_Her hands are clasped around the steering wheel, and her weary eyes stare ahead, unblinking. She undoes her seat-belt and clutches for a brown paper bag she has stashed in her glove compartment. She opens the sack to check on it's contents: eight bottles of sleeping pills and a large bottle of water. She considers her options..._

_Betty steps outside and__ slams the car door shut. The young woman anxiously stares off against the hospital entrance. Passing through those doors fills her heart with a debilitating __fear__._

**71\. INT. CALHOUN HOSPITAL, CANCER WARD – DAY**

_A YOUNG NURSE is speaking to Betty, prepping her for the encounter about to take place._

YOUNG NURSE:

Please wait outside while Dr. GIRE prepares her to see you.

BETTY:

Prepares her...?

_As Betty peers into the hospital room, all she can see are red curtains surrounding the bed and two silhouettes within. Pumps churn, gears grind and monitors bleep. She feels the artificial life closing in on her. Claustrophobic panic latching at her psyche, Betty grips the veins in her neck as a reflexive action, as if she could slow her own heart rate. DR. GIRE emerges from the red curtains and gently approaches Betty._

DR. GIRE:

Hello, Ms. Turner.

BETTY:

Hello, Dr. Gire. How is she?

DR. GIRE:

She's fighting hard. It's very important that your mother doesn't try to move. She's quite weak, and she's lost a lot of blood. It would be extremely painful for her. Sit close. You do the talking and the moving. She knows you're here. She became very emotional. I don't think she likes the idea of you seeing her like this.

_Betty nods, keeping her face straight and trying not to betray the panic taking rise inside. The nurse pulls back the red curtain and addresses the patient in an overly supportive voice._

NURSE:

Mrs. Turner! Your daughter is here to visit you!

_Betty sees MRS. TURNER... or, the poor creature that used to be her mother. Her hair has fallen out, her body is withered and malnourished, her skin is pale and her eyes are glossy. Machinery is hooked into the hole of recently extracted cancerous material in her neck, pumping air inside and regulating her breathing and blood flow. Her voice is shot and she can scarcely even emit words, groaning pitifully as her lips move. Betty puts on as strong a face as she can maintain._

BETTY:

Hey, momma...

_Mrs. Turner chokes on her words. Betty's eyes tear up in hopelessness._

**72\. EXT. THE CIRCULAR LODGE – DAY**

_The rain has died down and Windom has reached the address given to him on his note. The nondescript religious center is housed between Sunny's Dry Cleaners and Jezebel's Jam Jamboree, which sells homemade jam. Instead of a name, the building's only distinguishing marking is a small sign above the closed door with the Circular symbol engraved upon it, which is a thin, green circle. There is no indication of business hours, or even an invitation that business is conducted inside. Windom knocks on the door. Hearing no answer, he tries the knob. The door is unlocked, so he lets himself in._

**73\. INT. THE CIRCULAR LODGE, WAITING ROOM – DAY**

_Inside, Windom finds himself alone in a small, uninviting waiting room without any furniture on which to sit. A securely barred door prevents access to the back chambers. On the side wall is a small information window, barricaded with iron bars, that is currently unmanned. A tiny bell is laid out upon the ledge in front of the bars, which Windom chimes. He hears padlocks being unchained and slots unfastened until, finally, a Circular makes his way to the window._

_It is ARCHIBALD BATTIS __**[Pruitt Taylor Vince]**__, a heavyset man who wears a dark brown wool robe and hood. His pupils involuntarily dart from side to side constantly as he speaks, the effect of a congenital disorder. Archibald treats Windom's presence as an intrusion, as if receiving visitors is something especially out of the norm._

BATTIS:

Is there something I can do for you?

WINDOM:

Actually, I was hoping you wouldn't mind taking a few moments to teach me about your religion.

_Battis looks him over, and quickly decides against it._

BATTIS:

That's not possible. Sorry. Close the door behind you.

WINDOM:

Please, sir. I've come an awful long way to seek you out.

BATTIS:

Then, you'd better get a move on, seeing how long a trip you've got.

_As Battis is closing the door, Windom desperately tries to think of something to say to stop him._

WINDOM:

I'm looking for the Black Lodge!

_The door halts mid-close. Battis practically walks backwards into the information booth._

BATTIS:

Are you a Dugpa?

_Windom has only a split-second to decide how to respond, and commits to risk playing along._

WINDOM:

Yes.

_Battis' expression of perturbation transitions into curiosity. He invites Windom in through the back door._

**74\. INT. CIRCULAR LODGE, INNER CHAMBER – DAY**

_The inner chamber of the Circular Lodge looks like a throwback to medieval Europe. The floor is a stone tiling, banners of family crests line the walls, and kegs of ale take up much of the floorspace. The room is illuminated by a golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling which holds hundreds of flaming wax candles. A running motif of stuffed elk heads mount the walls of the room, the total counting seven. Of curious note to Windom, as he is led inside, is the enormous black cooking cauldron in the corner. It is so large, a person could easily fit inside._

_Two sentries stand side-by-side, guarding a massive Mahogany doorway which leads to a mysterious room. Both men are nearly seven feet tall, tightly fitted robes outlining the contours of their muscles. Their hoods are pulled up, and their faces hidden behind gray masks resembling skulls, which offer no eye holes. Attached to the sheaths at their waists are lengthy sabers that look capable of serious damage. Neither guard flinches from their alert positions, and it is hardly even detectable that they are breathing._

_Windom chuckles at the stoicism of the sentries, making an offhand comment to Battis as they pass by._

WINDOM:

Well disciplined guards you have. How do they see through those masks?

_Battis chuckles oddly at this. Then he invites Windom to join him at a perfectly circular Oak table. A tankard of ale rests before Battis, which he helps himself to, but he does not offer any to Windom._

BATTIS:

Alright, then... Who are you, and what are you doing in Twin Peaks?

_Windom heightens all of his concentration to feign confidence._

WINDOM:

I am on a path to discovery. I was lost for awhile, but I've been given a new direction. I cannot question it... I can only follow it. And that direction points toward Twin Peaks.

BATTIS:

What is it you're searching for?

WINDOM:

If my guess is right... the same as you.

_Windom leans forward._

WINDOM:

I know that they're here. And, I intend to make contact.

_Battis is looking Windom up and down like a piece of meat, sizing him up for any inconsistencies or flinches. This is made all the more nerve-wracking due to his pupils' constant darting from side-to-side._

BATTIS:

And how, exactly, do you intend on doing that?

WINDOM:

Because something is going to happen tonight, isn't it?

BATTIS:

You know that the portal is open, then?

_Battis' barriers have already begun to be broken down, and he accidentally feeds Windom some of the information he'd been searching for._

WINDOM:

Naturally.

_Windom displays a masterful poker face, and does not give away the fact that this stranger inadvertently corroborated the theories that he's clung to, without evidence, for years._

BATTIS:

How did you find out?

_Windom cautiously decides to not to reveal the absolute truth, and not mention his connections with government level radio wave equipment._

WINDOM:

I was given a message.

BATTIS:

In fire?

_Windom nods._

WINDOM:

What was _your_ source?

BATTIS:

We have an "inside man".

_Battis grins at this, an ulterior meaning clearly supposed to have been understood._

WINDOM:

What are you doing tonight to prepare?

BATTIS:

A magician doesn't reveal his secrets, now does he?

WINDOM:

Of course not. Of course not. My apologies. So, tell me, Brother... How far-reaching does the history of your Circular Lodge go?

BATTIS:

Well, we aren't descended from the ancient Tibetan Dugpas, if that's what you mean. But we've stolen a lot of their ideas. Our Brotherhood dates back a few hundred years. How about your clan? What are you called?

_Windom thinks quickly..._

WINDOM:

Oroborous.

BATTIS:

Where are you based?

WINDOM:

Buenos Aires.

_Windom's gamble pays off, and Battis exhibits excitement._

BATTIS:

Really? I'd heard there was a portal down there.

WINDOM:

Yes... The rumours are true.

_The two men share a laugh together, the feelings of mirth entirely fabricated on Windom's part._

WINDOM:

Now, refresh my memory... how many portals are there supposed to be in total? I'm afraid I am hopeless with numbers.

BATTIS:

It's believed that there are seven portals in this world. We'll never be sure, though. Those that know their location tend to keep them a secret.

_Battis suddenly loses all traces of warmth and grows deadly._

BATTIS:

Which makes me wonder... Why are you here? And, why are you sharing so much with me?

_Moving for the first time since he'd entered, the two sentries unsheathe their sabers in perfect unison, wielding them towards Windom. Gulping loudly, Windom realizes he may have gotten in over his head. Battis leans closely and whispers, damningly..._

BATTIS:

Bob has nothing to offer you.

_Stuttering, Windom struggles to maintain his composure._

WINDOM:

Please... do not misunderstand me... I have no intention of honing in on your territory... It's just that...

_Thinking quickly, Windom concocts a story..._

WINDOM:

Alright... you've got me. I'll admit it... I came to you begging for help.

BATTIS:

Begging? Begging for what?

WINDOM:

I have an inside man as well. Only, I don't trust him... I think he might be planning on double-crossing me. The reason I came all the way up here to find you... I was hoping for any advice you might have to offer, based on the dealing's you've made with your inside man. If you can help me out, then, soon as we finish, I'll vacate this town and ne'er return. You have my word.

_Battis eyes him up and down, perceptively, then erupts in boisterous laughter. Windom, sensing that the momentary danger has passed, laughs along with the cue._

BATTIS:

You're a funny one, I'll give you that. You and I both know that a Dugpa's word isn't worth a Goddamn thing!

_His expression grows serious once again, but is no longer threatening. Windom notices the sentries have returned to their previous neutral positions._

BATTIS:

Okay. Because you're good for a laugh, I'll give you my two cents' worth of advice. But, then I want you the hell out of Twin Peaks, is that understood?

WINDOM:

Inescapably. And, thank you.

BATTIS:

Right. The first step in dealing with a wondering spirit is to be forceful, strong, and never show it any weaknesses. Remember, a vessel must choose to lend itself to possession, or be duped into it. So, be wise and keep your cool. If that fails, there is a narcotic called haloperidol that wards the beings out of your system. But, it's difficult to come by.

WINDOM:

Haloperidol?

BATTIS:

That's right. You keep that running though your bloodstream and your body will be a fortress they can't penetrate. Watch out, though. The stuff's damn-well addictive. I should know...

_Battis rolls up his sleeve, evidencing dozens of swollen needle piercings. Windom winces._

WINDOM:

I'll be cautious.

BATTIS:

Of course, the best way to deter these bastards from wanting you is to keep throwing warm bodies their way. A dog's not going to bite the hand that feeds it... Have you heard of a drug called Anadenanthera Colubrina, more commonly known as "Vilca"?

_Windom is at a loss._

WINDOM:

I can't say that I have...

BATTIS:

It should be easy for you to get a hold of. It's from South America. We just discovered that this stuff makes victims particularly susceptible to possession. It breaks down their barriers and blurs their reasoning powers. Only the strongest willed can stand up to it. Another side effect... it escalates the victim's emotional responses to fear and pain, tenfold.

_Battis' expression suddenly becomes ghoulishly gleeful._

BATTIS:

Our inside man... he prefers the younger girls, right? Usually age seventeen to about... oh... twelve. Anyways, sometimes he asks us for a girl, or he picks one out, and I try to help set the two of them up. Usually out-of-towners, so as to avoid suspicion. I get them to drink some of this Vilca. You know, slip it into their milkshake...

_Windom has no other choice but to play it cool, but inside, his stomach is churning and his anger flaring. We go close in on Battis' mouth, forced to endure every detestable syllable pronounced by his oily lips._

BATTIS:

This one girl... she was a tenor in her school choir... We had to soundproof the room, the screams were so loud. After Bob had his way with her... her vocal cords had _burst_ right in her own throat.

_Specks of saliva rocket out of Battis' mouth at the word "burst" and shower through the air._

BATTIS:

Best performance she ever gave.

_Battis smiles with perverse revelry and callously chuckles. Windom tries to find his own voice, his response little more than a squeak._

WINDOM:

I'll have to give that stuff a try.

BATTIS:

Yeah... Alright, you've gotten your two cents' worth. Now I think it's time for you to leave...

WINDOM:

Certainly. You've been most gracious.

_Windom rises from his seat as Battis leads him out. He eyes the sentries as he passes by them once more, his heart fluttering, hoping they will remain motionless._

**75\. INT. THE CIRCULAR LODGE, WAITING ROOM – DAY**

_Windom is ushered out to the waiting room. Battis remains in the doorway, offering a final word._

BATTIS:

One more piece of "advice" for you. Be out of Twin Peaks by nightfall... or you're a dead man.

_The door to the inner chamber is slammed in Windom's face and locked, leaving him alone with his thoughts, his newly acquired knowledge, and a pervasive shaking in his legs as he recognizes how closely he may have just come to death._

**76\. EXT. HIGHWAY J – DAY**

_Garland Briggs is wandering out of the Ghostwood Memorial Forest and back out onto the highway. His hours of scouring the Pearl Lakes has turned up nothing of any consequence. The sky is beginning to grow dark, beckoning the coming nightfall._

_Briggs steps up a small grassy incline to Highway J. As he tops the ridge, he notices a w__hite Opel Kadett__ is pulled off onto the shoulder. The rear left-hand wheel has burst and gone flat, and a beautiful blonde woman standing beside the vehicle curses to herself. It is Betty Turner, and at this moment she is hopelessly struggling to change her flat tire, her petite physique making this difficult. Her dainty hands are wrapped around a tire iron and she is awkwardly attempting to use applied pressure to loosen the wheel. Taking only a moment to assess the situation, Garland jogs across the road to assist._

BRIGGS:

Excuse me, ma'am! Let me give you a hand with that!

_Not having heard him, Betty continues pulling against the tire iron, which is not being generous in conceding any leverage. Straining with all of her might, she loses her grip and stumbles backwards. Just before she lands in a filthy puddle of oily mud and soils her blue dress, Garland manages to grab her from behind and catch her fall. Betty yelps in surprise, and Garland lifts her back up into a standing position. She turns to thank the kind stranger._

BETTY:

Oh, thank you, mister...

_Betty is unable to even finish her thought. She is taken completely off guard by how handsome this chivalrous gentleman is, having just emerged from the forest. Likewise, Garland is unprepared for just how delicate and beautiful this woman is, stranded in the middle of the wet highway. They both loose themselves in each other's eyes, overcome by emotions they cannot define, having never felt them before. Garland stammers._

BRIGGS:

Mister... Mister... Oh dear. I'm dreadfully sorry, miss, but I seem to have forgotten my name...

BETTY:

Betty.

BRIGGS:

No, no... that's not it... It's marginally more masculine, as I recall...

_Betty giggles, flattered to an extent that hitherto she has not been accustomed. She can barely form words through the involuntary smile her lips have taken._

BETTY:

No, that's _my_ name! I'm Betty.

BRIGGS:

That's far more fitting. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Betty. As soon as I am able to recall my own name, I promise that I shall divulge it to you with haste. In the meantime, however, I can see that you have a tire which needs mending.

BETTY:

Yes! This has never happened to me before, but it just went out on me as I was driving. With the road being slippery and all, I'm glad I didn't end up in a wreck!

BRIGGS:

Most fortunate. And, you have a spare in the trunk?

BETTY:

Yes, luckily.

BRIGGS:

If you would permit me, I would be more than happy to replace it for you...

BETTY:

Would you, really? That would be very generous!

BRIGGS:

Not at all, madam... I see it as my duty.

_Garland rolls up his sleeves and takes the tire iron in a masculine grip. With a few grunts, he pulls the flattened tire loose from it's axle and rolls it towards the trunk. Betty watches his every movement with great interest and undeniable attraction._

BETTY:

Are you in the Marines?

_Garland stops as he is opening the trunk and turns to her._

BETTY:

I noticed your uniform. I don't know much about the military...

BRIGGS:

I'm afraid I am not in the Marines, no. I'm a member of the Air Force. I'm a pilot.

BETTY:

A pilot...

_Betty audibly swoons. Garland rolls the replacement wheel over to the naked iron and finishes replacing the tire. Once he tightens it's bolts into place, he gives his work a proud pat._

BRIGGS:

There you are, madam. Good as new.

BETTY:

Thank you so much. I really couldn't have done it without your help.

_Despite how nervous she is to ask, Betty forwardly takes a chance, not wanting to part ways forever with the stranger._

BETTY:

As a way of thanks... may I invite you to dinner?

_Garland chuckles and breaks into a boyish grin._

BRIGGS:

Garland. My name is Garland.

**77\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST**** – NIGHT**

_Night has fallen and the woods have become shadowy and secretive. Floating in the barren black of the night sky is a stunning full Moon, it's hypnotic radiance cast widely throughout the wilderness. Heinrich Lanterman has buried his ax into a fallen tree of his own doing and rests his foot on it's edge, taking a moment to wipe the rapidly accumulating sweat from his brow. A fluttering from above catches his attention. A flock of birds fly overhead, making haste to get out of the woods. Heinrich wonders to himself what they are fleeing from..._

**78\. EXT. WHITETAIL FALLS – NIGHT**

_The majestic Whitetail Falls pours gallons of crystal clear glacial water down it's 600 foot drop. The Moonlight glistens off of the runoff as it drifts out towards Black Lake. To the left of the falls, built right over the edge of the precipice, the Great Northern Hotel is abeam with bright lights shining forth from a crowded dining hall._

**79\. INT. GREAT NORTHERN HOTEL, SMOKE ROOM – NIGHT**

_The Smoke Room houses the magnificent dining hall of the Great Northern Hotel. The room has a rustic, but elegant timber theme. The walls and floor are made from fine Oak, which glistens from regular polishing. Native American art and carvings grace the walls, and animal heads adorn the rafters. There are dozens of tables, each seating couples and groups enjoying fine Northwestern cuisine together._

_A large banner along the entrance of the room declares: "_The Great Northern Welcomes it's Rodeo Clown Convention_". Indeed, most tables in the room are occupied by men and women with face paint and striped clothing, some of whom are wearing barrels. They laugh and cheer together, occasionally emitting a "yeehaw" as they eat their meals._

_The dining staff of the hotel are distinctly professional, dressed in matching red uniforms. On the stage, a Spanish opera singer is preparing to begin a live performance. The staggeringly gorgeous woman wears an ornate red dress, carefully ruffled patterns of auburn hair, and brandishes a perfectly placed beauty mark upon her cheek. To her accompaniment is an accordion player, wearing a black domino mask and a pencil-thin mustache._

_In the corner of the room, one table of ornery circus clowns are causing a disturbance and shouting obscene pejoratives directed towards the rodeo population. The staff are doing their best to keep the peace between the two divisions._

_Garland and Betty sit together at a table near the large windows. Behind them is a breathtaking view of the precipice the hotel was built upon and the runoff of the falls flowing off into the horizon. On the table between them is a delectable spread of steak and lobster, complimented by cups of steaming hot black coffee. Garland takes his first sip, closing his eyes tightly and savoring the experience..._

BRIGGS:

Bless my soul... if that Pete fellow wasn't guilty of even the faintest hyperbole. Without a doubt, this is the finest cup of coffee that has ever passed beyond this trachea.

_Betty smiles and laughs with a bit of town pride._

BETTY:

We do love our coffee in Twin Peaks...

_Garland clears his throat and speaks favorably of the community._

BRIGGS:

I have only been here for a few hours, and yet I find this quaint town to be resplendent in virtue and character. I believe I could grow to develop quite a fondness for it.

BETTY:

Where are you from, Mr. Briggs?

BRIGGS:

Utica. New York.

BETTY:

Oh. I've never been to the East Coast. In fact... I've never been much of anywhere.

BRIGGS:

And yet, you are so young. The opportunities for future travel are many.

_Betty smiles, responding favorably to Garland's optimism. Behind them, the circus clowns have begun honking their horns in unison, causing a deafening blare that distracts from the festivities of the rodeo clowns. The two clown denominations begin shouting to one another in provocation._

_A circus clown jumps up upon the table, mockingly waving a large red napkin around like a frilly bull fighter. One of the rodeo clowns rushes up to him and throws a punch. A fellow circus clown, sprinting to his aide, removes his oversized shoe and unleashes a barrage of downward pummels with the shovel-width footwear against the rodeo clown's face._

_The waiters on hand approach to stop the outbreak, forcibly separating the enraged clowns, restraining them with their arms. BENJAMIN HORNE, SR., the owner of the hotel, intrudes, shouting a plea for peace._

BENJAMIN:

Please, please! There is no need for this mindless violence! We're all friends here! No matter what color make-up you wear on the outside... inside we are all brothers!

_Garland and Betty ignore the commotion behind them, fully invested in their meal and their company. He takes a hearty bite of his steak, savoring every morsel as he grinds it into a consistency suitable for swallowing, and then elevates the conversation to a slightly more serious level._

BRIGGS:

I suppose I should give you fair warning sooner, rather than later. I am anticipating two associates of mine to meet me here at seven o'clock. And, while I am honored by your hospitality and greatly enjoying your company, I fear that I may have to break away at a moment's notice.

BETTY:

Business associates?

BRIGGS:

Regretfully so.

_Betty tries her hand at some optimism of her own._

BETTY:

Well... I'll just enjoy what time of yours I can get, then.

_Betty reaches across the table and touches Garland's hand. He smiles back at her. _

BRIGGS:

Although I initially came to Twin Peaks for business... it's entirely possible that I can return for pleasure.

_Their two eyes meet, their mutual feelings clear. As they enjoy a few moments of silent companionship, Benjamin Horne, Sr., having momentarily curbed the clowns' commotion, approaches the couple with a smile. The community leader wears thick glasses, a fedora hat, and a fine gray suit._

BENJAMIN:

And, how are you two doing? I trust you are enjoying your meals?

BRIGGS:

Exceptionally. The food is exquisite. And this coffee is "black nectar on high from Mount Olympus", to quote a splendid gentleman who's acquaintance I made earlier today.

BENJAMIN:

Ah. Delighted to hear it. Will you be staying with us here, tonight?

_ Garland smiles at Betty. She smiles back._

BRIGGS:

It is quite possible.

BENJAMIN:

Wonderful. If there's anything else at all I can arrange for you, please don't hesitate to –

_A HOTEL ASSISTANT has anxiously sprinted up to Benjamin and whispers into his ear._

HOTEL ASSISTANT:

Sir. Jerry stabbed one of the chefs and ran off with the stroganoff.

BENJAMIN:

I am gonna castrate that little whippersnapper...

_Ben addresses the duo once more as he excuses himself._

BENJAMIN:

If you would excuse me... Family emergency.

_With Benjamin's absence, Betty and Garland return their attention to one another. Garland takes a bite of his lobster, while Betty squints her eyes as she tries to wrap her mind around this exotic and mysterious stranger._

BETTY:

You fascinate me... Every word that comes out of your mouth is filled with such grandeur. You seem so content... I've never talked to anyone quite like you before...

BRIGGS:

Why, thank you, Betty.

BETTY:

What's your secret?

_Garland clears his throat in flattery and dabs his lips with his cotton napkin as he prepares to explain himself._

BRIGGS:

There's no secrets at work, I assure you. I simply relish this life which the Good Lord has provided me with, and, equally so, this beautiful planet in which we inhabit. It seems to me as though we must appreciate it's every facet, and voice that appreciation as often as possible, lest we be guilty of taking such splendor for granted.

_Betty reassesses Garland in surprise._

BETTY:

You're a religious man, then?

BRIGGS:

Without reservation. Yourself?

_Betty sighs as she uses her fork to twirl her mashed potatoes._

BETTY:

I'm not so sure... I used to be... But, recently, it seemed like He stopped listening, so I guess I just stopped talking.

BRIGGS:

He is _always_ listening.

BETTY:

But if that's true, then why doesn't He help us when we need Him most?

_Garland remains confident, not allowing her doubt to cause him to question his convictions._

BRIGGS:

He does. Often, His help does not take a form which we can anticipate.

_Betty gives him a sly look._

BETTY:

You mean, maybe he sent you?

_Garland smiles._

BRIGGS:

Perhaps.

_Betty smiles at that implication. Then she shrugs and offers a reasonable query._

BETTY:

So, if you think He will help you out of any mess you find yourself in, then why bother trying to figure things out for yourself? Why not just hope for the best?

_Garland softly chuckles._

BRIGGS:

I'm afraid it doesn't work quite like that. He has granted us a certain amount of... independence, which turns out to be far more of a blessing than it is a curse. Life does offer many challenges, some of them appearing to be quite cruel, but it is essential to push oneself through them. To do less would be an admission that life itself is not worth our effort. One day, far from now, when I have come to the end of my journey, the Lord will look back at me and ask whether or not I put forth sufficient effort to be deemed worthy of His infinite generosity. And, when that moment comes, I intend to be able to tell Him, with confidence and sincerity, that I did the best damn job that I could.

_The opera song ends, and the non-clown patrons let out a round of applause. The coincidental timing gives the illusion that they are applauding Garland's speech. Betty nods for a moment and reflects on his words, coming to an internal realization. The opera singer and her accordion player leave the stage, and only a piano player remains. He begins playing, filling the room with rich lounge music._

BETTY:

You're absolutely right... I need to stop being angry at Him and blaming Him for all the problems in my life. Even though I can't control the world outside, I'm the one in control of my own attitude.

_Betty sighs._

BETTY:

It won't be easy, though.

BRIGGS:

Nothing worthwhile ever is.

_Betty smiles at Garland, in admiration, appreciation, and attraction._

BETTY:

I'm so glad that I met you, Garland. I'm almost thankful that my tire burst... You've no idea the tough times I've fallen on lately, and... I just... I really needed to hear a voice like yours. And, even though we've only known each other for a few hours, the impression you've left on me has been unforgettable.

_Betty looks down, __fear__ful of rejection of the opinion she is about to voice._

BETTY:

I must admit, Mr. Briggs, that it would be a lot easier to take control of my life with a friend nearby, leading by example...

_Garland smiles, and prepares to answer, but the words are lost in his throat when a scream breaks the air._

RODEO CLOWN:

FOREST FIRE!

_A commotion has erupted, and the guests rapidly congregate towards the out-looking windows. A pillar of smoke rises up into the sky above the distant forest. The wide, dark valley, previously only illuminated by Moonlight, is now awash in flickering orange. Garland jumps up from his table, his tone paramount._

BRIGGS:

I'm sorry, Betty... but, I believe this is what I came here for.

BETTY:

Will I see you, again?

_Betty asks the question almost with desperation. Garland tenderly takes Betty's hand and kisses her knuckles._

BRIGGS:

I promise, I will find you.

_Garland leaves the Timber Room with haste. Betty remains at her table, staring down at the unfinished plates..._

**80\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT**

_Heinrich is loading logs onto his cart. The woodland immediately around him is lit only by an oil lantern which he has hanging from a nearby branch. Small moths flutter around it and land upon its glass, their winged shadows being enlarged onto the ground. The cart of wood finally filled, Heinrich scratches his beard as he prepares to retire homeward after a hard day's work._

_…Until he smells the smoke. Looking off into the distance, Heinrich sees a rapidly growing forest fire raging his way, the high-reaching flames licking over the top of the treeline. It has already spread widely, leaving his routes of escape limited. Heinrich decides to head towards water, and sprints off in the direction of Pearl Lakes. His wagon and ax are left behind, along with the swinging oil lantern, abandoned by their owner..._

**81\. EXT. DRATLER'S DRUGS – NIGHT**

_We are looking into a small pharmacy from the curb outside. Perfectly centered in the doorway is Windom Earle, who looks exhausted and still shaken from his recent exploits. He is speaking to an unseen PHARMACY EMPLOYEE who is hidden behind the counter. Windom grows irritated, but does his best to restrain his emotions._

WINDOM:

That's right. Haloperidol. Do you carry any?

PHARMACY EMPLOYEE:

Sir, I've never even heard of that.

WINDOM:

I believe it's an antipsychotic.

PHARMACY EMPLOYEE:

We would have to send away for something like that. We're just a small town pharmacy, sir.

_Windom stiffens when he hears a fire truck careening past, it's siren howling through the night air. He sprints outside, notices the acrid smoke spreading up into the night sky, and instantly rushes off in pursuit of the red vehicle._

**82\. INT. LANTERMAN CABIN – NIGHT**

_The cabin has grown very dim with the night. Margaret Lanterman sits alone in her rocking chair, slowly gliding back and forth, creaking with each swaying motion. She gazes up at the log on her mantle, longing for her husband's return._

_In the darkness of the lonely cabin, a flickering orange light casts it's glow in from through the window. Taking notice, Margaret rises from her chair and looks out the window to uncover the source of the light, although she's __fear__ful that she knows what it must be. To her abject horror, she beholds the forest fire off in the distance... Off in the direction that Heinrich was working... Her hand plants itself over her mouth._

MARGARET:

The fire... My Heinrich... He needs me!

_Margaret dashes out the door towards the spreading fire. As we look out through the open doorway, and we see her body shrinking off into the distance, we pull back further... until the Log on her mantel appears in the foreground... watching over her..._

**83\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT**

_Heinrich has covered a lot of ground, but finds the unstoppable inferno spreading towards him at an impossibly furious rate. It almost seems to be following him. Directly ahead, he spots open expanse, and the Pearl Lakes nestled beyond. Trees pass him on either side as he chugs ahead at full speed._

_Suddenly, as if conjured from out of nowhere, a twenty foot tall wall of flame blocks his path. It takes all of Heinrich's agility to stop in time, digging up dirt under his boots. He can feel the heat of the fire in front of him. As he quickly steps backwards, his foot splashes into a thick goo. Heinrich looks down to find the forest floor flooded with a black oil. It is the same oil that he found at Glastonbury Grove, and he is hopelessly stuck in the ankle-high swamp. Heinrich is boxed in, and the fire encroaches from all directions..._

**84\. EXT. SPARKWOOD AND 21 – NIGHT**

_Garland Briggs has reached the crossroads out of town which lead into the forest. A crowd of chattering onlookers have gathered. Police have cordoned off the area, and firefighters are trying their best to extinguish the rapidly spreading blaze before it can enter the city. Garland admires the destruction from afar, the inferno hid behind trees and blanketed by columns of smoke. Through the murmurs of the crowd, he discerns a familiar voice calling out to him..._

WINDOM:

GARLAND!

_Windom jumps above the crowd, waving his hands to get Garland's attention, and then proceeds to fight his way through the gawkers towards his comrade._

WINDOM:

Are you alright?

BRIGGS:

Yes, I'm fine. And, yourself?

WINDOM:

I waded into some deep waters... almost got in over my head. I have so much to tell you! You won't believe what I've discovered... Where's Paylen?

_Windom scans the area, but finds no sight of him._

BRIGGS:

I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since we first arrived.

_Windom steps back and takes in the magnitude of the disaster spread before him._

WINDOM:

This fire... This is why we're here. Can't you sense it?

_Garland nods in agreement._

WINDOM:

How are we going to get past the police barricade?

BRIGGS:

I found an underground cave earlier that can take us through to the forest. Follow me, and act nonchalant.

_The two men calmly head off towards Highway J. Deep in the crowd, Ernold Paylen, who had been hiding from his colleagues' sight, watches them disappear into the rough and cracks a gratified smile._

**85\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT**

_Margaret is nearly exhausted to the point of fainting, but she musters every remaining ounce of energy she has to keep up a frenzied bound through the forest. She is sprinting along the edge of the clearing to the side of the Pearl Lakes. Towering before her, she witnesses a gargantuan wall of fire, trees being eaten alive in it's spread. It seems so specific and straightly-aligned that it defies physics. She screams into the night for her husband._

MARGARET:

HEINRICH! Where are you!?

_Just on the other side of the wall of flame, Heinrich is still trying to pull himself free from the oil, which has risen up to his shins. Sweat streaks down his face and into his beard as the fire inches ever closer. He hears his be__love__d wife's voice and calls out in return._

HEINRICH:

MARGARET! I'M HERE!

_Margaret approaches the wall of fire, getting so close that she must back away as the flickering flames scald the palms of her hands. Narrowing her focus, she can just make out her husband through the blaze._

MARGARET:

You've got to get out of there! Try to find a way out! Keep running the other way!

HEINRICH:

I'm trying! But, I'm... I'm stuck!

MARGARET:

Stuck!? Stuck in what!?

_ Heinrich keeps pulling at his legs, but the oil will not give. The fire swirls around, moving to encapsulate him. As his situation becomes increasingly bleak, he looks at Margaret through the flames and focuses on her. His brave, manly voice quivers with __fear__ and despair, as he endeavors to say the most important sentence that he can, sensing that it is his last._

HEINRICH:

I love you...

_ As Heinrich says this, his right hand begins shaking, uncontrollably. He tries to steady it with his left, but it does no good. The convulsion invades so aggressively that his entire body is affected. After the spasm finally passes, Heinrich is stricken to see the BURNT MAN standing before him._

_The spectral figure is draped in tattered brown rags and wears a hood pulled down over his face, tied off with oily, knotted ropes. As he tilts his head back, Heinrich catches a glimpse through the hood. Underneath is a horribly disfigured, scarred surface of skin that barely resembles anything human, with pitch black, beady eyes piercing back out at him from recessed sockets. The blazing inferno rages towards Heinrich, but he cannot move. He is petrified with __fear__. The Burnt Man, who is not affected by the heat, glares at him without a change in expression._

MARGARET:

Heinrich! Why are you just standing there!? Answer me!

_Margaret screams towards her husband, her voice breaking from the strain. Suddenly, she feels a sharp pain on her leg. She reaches down towards a burn mark on the underside of her knee. The shape of the scar, which she's bore since her childhood, resembles two mountains. As she rubs the mark in agony, it begins glowing red..._

_Heinrich cannot move or speak as he is faced with the inhuman figure, only able to tremor with sheer terror. As the fire comes closer, the Burnt Man intensifies his gaze. Heinrich falls face first into the oil and shakes with a seizure. Margaret screams, her voice breaking..._

MARGARET:

Please, don't leave me! I can't live without you!

_ Garland and Windom climb out of the underground passage and find themselves before the awesome wall of fire. Noticing that Margaret is standing far too close, Garland immediately rushes towards her and pulls her away. Windom stares at the destruction, his hair blowing in the hot wind._

BRIGGS:

What are you doing here, ma'am!? It's not safe! We've got to get you out of here!

MARGARET:

I won't leave without my husband!

_Jaw hanging open in aghast wonderment, Windom brazenly steps as close as he can towards the fire and peers through the flames. For an instant, he sees Heinrich laying on the ground. But, Windom's view is suddenly obscured by the Burnt Man, staring through the veil of fire right back at him. Windom jumps with fright, screams outwardly, and backs away._

_On the other side of the fire, Heinrich continues convulsing on the ground. One final tear slides down his cheek. We close in on it and see it fall to the ground, where it is instantly evaporated. It is at this moment that Heinrich Lanterman dies._

_The Burnt Man walks up to Heinrich, leans over, and lifts him up as through he hardly weighs anything. He throws the body into the flames, which engulf the corpse instantly into incineration. Satisfied with his handiwork, the Burnt Man then steps into the fire and vanishes..._

_In an impossible instant, the fire dies down to nothing. It reveals no survivors, or even bodies left in it's wake. Margaret falls to the ground in trauma, a broken and shattered woman. Garland kneels down beside her and wraps his arms around her, comforting her as best he can. Windom continues staring at the devastation, assured that he has seen many otherworldly things this night, but unable to make sense out of any of it._

_Abruptly, from out of the darkness, a bright white light shines through the trees. It is so blinding that Windom and Garland must both shield their eyes. Up on the hill they make out a HOODED FIGURE emerging from the Threshold, standing silhouetted against the light. Windom gasps..._

WINDOM:

My God... It's one of them...

_Windom steps forward, his arms held high, and screams towards the figure._

WINDOM:

TAKE ME! I'M READY!

_The Hooded Figure swoops towards Windom like a giant bird. Wanting to be claimed, Earle is mortified when it passes him by. The Hooded Figure glides towards Garland, who calls for help._

BRIGGS:

WINDOM! WINDOM!

_The light vanishes, and both Briggs and the Hooded Figure are gone. The woods are now dark and quiet. Windom stands, hyperventilating, while Margaret buries her face in the dirt and sobs. He whispers to himself..._

WINDOM:

I wasn't ready...

**86\. EXT. SPARKWOOD AND 21 – NIGHT**

_The fire has died, and all that is left is the lingering smoke, which rises up to be absorbed into the atmosphere. The police are taking down their cordon, and the crowd has mostly dispersed. Firefighters are coming back into town, their faces sooty. Surprisingly, the disaster does not look as though it was severely detrimental to the landscape._

_ SHERIFF CARPENTER __**[Duwayne Dunham]**__, dressed in his green Twin Peaks PD uniform, is standing at the barrier's edge, arms crossed and brow furrowed. His expression is turned upside down in surprise when, beyond the cordon, Windom Earle staggers out of the woods carrying Margaret Lanterman over his shoulder. They are both haggard and stained with ash. She is unconscious, and he is obviously suffering from shock. Officers rush up to assist Windom and take Margret away for medical attention._

CARPENTER:

My God! What were you two doing in there? Is she alright?

WINDOM:

I think she's fine, but her husband... didn't make it.

_The Sheriff brushes Margaret's hair out of her face so he can get a look at her._

CARPENTER:

Oh, no... It's Margaret... Poor thing... We'll take her.

_Two medics from the nearby ambulance approach, readily wheeling a dolly. An officer takes Margaret from Windom's arms and carefully loads her to be transported._

CARPENTER:

You saw her husband die? You're sure?

WINDOM:

He went up in smoke...

_The Sheriff shakes his head in remorse._

CARPENTER:

Damn shame... They were only married yesterday...

_Windom stumbles towards the back of the ambulance, practically falling inside. He sits on the edge of the loading area, prepared to allow the medics to check him for smoke inhalation after they have tended to Margret._

_Most of the citizens have headed home, but a few straggling onlookers remain. One of them is Betty Turner. She is searching for Garland, but notices Windom, instead. Since she does not recognize him, and it is evident that he had been in the fire, she approaches him. Her eyes are hopeful._

BETTY:

Pardon me... sir?

_Windom looks up, but focuses beyond her, his mind still reeling._

BETTY:

I'm so sorry to bother you, but are you an associate of Garland Briggs? Only, I met him earlier today, and I just wanted to be sure that he was safe. He came out this way to investigate the fire...

WINDOM:

I'm very sorry, my dear... but Garland isn't with us anymore...

BETTY:

Oh my God...

_Betty is overcome with emotions and excuses herself without another word. Windom looks up into the sky._

WINDOM:

All there is to do now is wait, and hope that he is returned to us...

_Windom gazes up at the Moon. It practically fills the entire night sky with it's colossal luminescent glow..._

**87\. EXT. GREAT NORTHERN HOTEL, PARKING LOT – NIGHT**

_Under the glow of the Moon, Betty staggers up to her w__hite Kadett__ and hurls herself against the door, sliding down to the damp pavement and crying. As she remembers the man she met only a few hours ago, she is overcome with the painful acceptance that she will never see him again. Her vision blurred by a veil of tears, she looks up at the Moon..._

**88\. INT. LANTERMAN CABIN – NIGHT**

_The Moonlight shines through the window and illuminates the cabin, which now feels as if it will forever be desolate and empty. Margaret is alone in the dark on her knees, despairing her own existence. She realizes that there is no other way out, and she knows that she cannot continue on, alone. On the table next to her is a sharp knife. She holds it up to the window and lets the Moonlight reflect off of it's silver surface. She puts it to her wrist, feeling the metal against her skin. Ever so gently, she tests the sharpness of the blade and how easily it pierces through her flesh..._

HEINRICH:

No, Margret!

_Margaret screams and throws the knife down. She leaps up and looks for where the voice came from. It sounded like her husband, but she knew that she saw him die... Margaret stumbles around the room, frantically searching for someone, but she stops when her eyes glance at the mantle. She approaches the Log, slowly, reaching her hand out to touch it._

MARGARET:

There you are...

_Margaret smiles as she strokes the Log... Outside the window, the sky darkens as the Moon is obscured by a cloud..._

**89\. INT. THE ROADHOUSE – NIGHT**

_The cloud passes by and the Moon shines brightly once more. The Roadhouse is filled with people enjoying their drinks as well as the live music on stage. Peanut shells litter the floor. Windom Earle is at the counter, drinking heavily. He downs a glass of whiskey in one gulp and buries his head in his hands._

WINDOM:

Right within my grasp... Why wasn't I chosen...? Why wasn't it me...?

_Windom downs another shot and lowers his head against the table. The patron next to Windom looks past his sullen form at the bright Moonlight pouring in through the window..._

**90\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT**

_The Moon shines just as brilliantly here, casting diluted whispers of light through the Pine needles of the many branches. Sitting alone out in the woods is the Old Waiter. He rests upon a rock, gazing up at the Moon, sighing and shaking his head in empathy. Out of the darkness of the forest emerges Dr. Ernold Paylen. The Old Waiter rises from the rock and steps forward to meet him in the clearing. Paylen smiles._

PAYLEN:

Hello, old friend. It's good to see you again.

_The Old Waiter smiles goofily and gives Paylen a thumbs up. Paylen returns the gesture with sincerity, then shakes his head in melancholia._

PAYLEN:

I was certain Windom would be the one... I thought that he had the purity inside. He so desperately wanted to be chosen...

_The Old Waiter just shakes his head and clicks his tongue in disapproval._

PAYLEN:

I know... I know... I always get too attached. That's been my weakness for a long time, hasn't it? Will I ever learn?

_The Old Waiter beams with optimism. Ernold looks down at the ground._

PAYLEN:

One thing you must agree with me on, though. Windom is smart. He'll have figured me out in no time. Which means I'm going to have to lay low. I won't be able to intervene directly anymore. Which means that if Garland _can't_ get us through to the other side, then... maybe you'll have to find the next one.

_The Old Waiter nods in understanding. Teeming with uncertainty, Paylen questions himself, needful of the old man's reassurance._

PAYLEN:

Is what we're doing truly righteous? Do we have any place to use these beings the way that we do?

_At this query, Dr. Paylen and the Old Waiter slowly fade away until they have completely vanished. Everything becomes unnaturally dark, and two white spotlights appear where both men used to stand. In the Old Waiter's place is now the GIANT __**[Carel Struycken]**__, and in Paylen's place is the ALBINO. The Giant is tall and has a gaunt face. The Albino has curly hair and a wide nose. She wears a white dress that matches the color of her skin. The Giant is dressed in an outfit similar to that of the Old Waiter, complete with the red bow tie. He speaks softly and distinctly._

GIANT:

What we do, we do for them as much as for ourselves. Although they cannot understand our work, we share the same goals. Any risk they take, they take for their own good. You must see this.

_The Albino does not speak, but only smiles strangely and nods in acquiescence._

GIANT:

We do not use men. We save them.

_The Giant looks up at the Moon with worry in his eyes. We fade out slowly to black and hold it..._

**91\. INT. INTERROGATION ROOM – DAY**

CAPTION:

One week later

_Windom Earle is wearing clothes that look as though he's slept in them. His face is unshaven and scruffy, his eyes bloodshot and spent. A camera is recording Windom as he speaks. The men in assembly are all dressed eerily similar in black suits, ties and glasses. They portray no distinguishing characteristics, and their faces remain staunchly unimpressed. Windom paces back and forth and speaks frantically, his mind a mess of ideas._

WINDOM:

These evil sorcerers, Dugpas, they call them, cultivate evil for the sake of evil and nothing else. They express themselves in darkness _for_ darkness, without leavening motive. This ardent purity has allowed them to access a secret place of great power, where the cultivation of evil proceeds in exponential fashion. And with it, the furtherance of evil's resulting power. These are not fairy tales or myths. This place of power is tangible, and as such, can be found, entered, and perhaps, utilised in some fashion. The Dugpas have many names for it, but chief among them is "the Black Lodge".

_The investors all look back at him with vacant stares. Windom is frustrated by their lack of support, and speaks with disdain._

WINDOM:

You don't believe me, do you? You think I'm mad... Overworked... Go away...

_Windom waves his hands in disgust and leaves the room. The camera is turned off, and the men are left murmuring. GENERAL MANNERS __**[John Astin]**__ is speaking with a BLACK-SUITED MAN __**[Marshall Bell]**__ with unrelenting gray eyes and a distinctive scar on his upper lip._

BLACK-SUITED MAN:

You know how bad this looks, right? Two missing officers, and no plausible explanation other than this occultist black magic garbage. The other investors are getting nervous about Earle's continued involvement, and I don't blame them. He's a loose cannon, and we can't risk him destroying all that we've been working for. Something needs to be done, Manners.

MANNERS:

Don't worry, sir. It'll be taken care of. We're going to force him to take a leave of absence, convince the psych analysis to brand him as unstable and violent, and get him transferred back to the Bureau. No one here will stick up for him. He's got no friends left... unless Garland ever shows up again, that is

BLACK-SUITED MAN:

That won't be a problem, either. If Briggs is still alive... you know what to do.

MANNERS:

Yes, sir. That I do.

**92\. INT. DAVEY'S EATS – DAY**

_Betty Turner is sitting alone at a sticky booth in the unimpressive diner. Her face is weak and desolate, as if she has not smiled in many days, and the black rings under her tear-stained eyes hint towards her lack of sleep. She bites into a liverwurst sandwich... but she can't taste anything. She is merely passing nourishment in order to perpetuate existence, nothing more._

_At the booth beside her, a fat truck driver is shoving large quantities of ribs into his flabby face. A bone goes down the wrong way and he breaks into a gasping outbreak of chokes. He falls out of his booth and onto his back, writhing about and wheezing. Unable to get up, he resembles an obese tortoise stuck on it's shell. Phyllis jumps down to the ground and thrusts him upright, aggressively performing the Heimlich maneuver on him. Even though she is saving his life, the trucker almost looks as through he wishes Phyllis was nowhere near him._

_Betty is unmoved by all of this, continuing to take joyless bites out of her sandwich, staring ahead, but seeing nothing. A commotion is occurring outside the window. She turns her head, idly curious. Cars honk and swerve out of the way to avoid hitting a man who is walking along the street._

_It is Garland Briggs, who is dizzily staggering down the middle of the road. His clothes look like they've been put on him backwards and inside out. He mutters to himself, confused by his surroundings._

_Betty cannot believe her eyes and smiles for the first time in a week. It almost hurts her cheeks, her lips breaking from the permanent scowl to which they had previously been configured. She tosses aside her sandwich and dashes towards the door, vaulting over the trucker who is still on the ground, having just had an entire femur bone extracted from his esophagus._

**93\. EXT. DAVEY'S EATS – DAY**

_Betty sprints madly across the street, paying no heed to traffic. The oncoming cars are now swerving to avoid hitting her as well, and she jumps into Garland's arms. His weak, still-shaking body is thrown back by her force, unable to process what is happening._

BETTY:

Garland! You're alive! I thought you'd burned up!

_Through Garland's eyes, we can see that everything is a fuzzy blur._

BRIGGS:

Where am I? Is this... Twin Peaks? Did I really make it back?

BETTY:

Yes! You're back! But... where did you go?

_Garland frantically digs through the inside breast pocket of his jacket, searching for something that is no longer there._

BRIGGS:

The note I found... It's gone... He took it...

BETTY:

What note? Who took it?

BRIGGS:

Who took it...? I think it was me...

BETTY:

Where were you?

_Through Garland's eyes, Betty's blurry face comes into focus until, at long last, he recognizes her. His heart warms from her vision, and he holds her tightly._

BRIGGS:

I've no idea. I was away somewhere... someplace undefinable. I cannot recall any specific details... All I can remember is that... the reason I wanted to return... was to see you again.

BETTY:

I've missed you every day you were gone!

GARLAND:

Betty... May I request the honor of your company for dinner? Perhaps... numerous dinners... for the foreseeable future?

_The two embrace, the __love__ that will carry them through life together forged for the first time. The romantic moment they share is only slightly detracted from by the loud honking and angry cursing from drivers who don't appreciate their positions in the middle of the road._

_Garland glances upwards and notices a nest up in a tree. Inside, two chickadees cuddle together, no longer traveling through life alone..._

**94\. INT. PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE – DAY**

_Garland Briggs is sprawled out upon a red Naugahyde chair in a psychiatric office. The air force's private PSYCHIATRIST sits beside him, asking him questions in an entrancing voice. The short man's round head is completely hairless, and his thick glasses conceal his eyes behind two walls of reflected light. General Manners stands beside the psychiatrist and observes the session, his mind preoccupied with schemes of subterfuge. Garland is currently under hypnosis and speaks whilst in a somnambulist state._

BRIGGS:

I can recall... a white light. And... a lone figure, cloaked in shadow... standing upon the mountaintop. He called forth to me, beckoning me to enter his realm...

PSYCHIATRIST:

And, what was on the other side, Garland? What can you remember about the place you visited?

BRIGGS:

Nothing... I remember nothing... except... the wind blowing through the trees... and the call of the Owl.

_Manners and the psychiatrist exchange puzzled glances._

PSYCHIATRIST:

You were there for a week, Garland. How did you survive? Were you fed food? Did anybody –

_Garland shakes his head, dismissively._

BRIGGS:

It wasn't a week... It may have seemed like a week... but it wasn't. The passage of time is relative...

_Garland concernedly reaches for his inside jacket pocket, feeling for something that isn't there._

BRIGGS:

I had a sheet of paper... It said... "Fire Walk With Me"... I had it when I was taken... And now it's gone...

PSYCHIATRIST:

Do you remember Windom? Did he tell you anything about his findings?

BRIGGS:

Windom Earle... told me nothing...

_Despite remaining silent throughout the proceedings thus far, Manners interjects. The psychiatrist turns to protest, but Manners silences him by clasping a hand on his shoulder. He pressures Garland directly and unarguably._

MANNERS:

Windom doesn't work alongside you anymore, Garland. He is not your friend. He was too secretive, he became violent, and he betrayed us. We're better off without him.

_Garland shifts uncomfortably in his seat, processing this information deep into his subconscious._

BRIGGS:

So... difficult... to trust... anyone...

_Manners nods to the psychiatrist, pleased with the results of his subliminal coercion. Both men are taken aback, however, when Garland squirms, spontaneously spouting out a strange language. His words do not come out naturally. They are painfully regurgitated from somewhere within._

BRIGGS:

Taht mug uoy ekil si gniog ot emoc kcab ni elyts...

S'TEL KCOR! S'TEL KCOR!

_We cut to black..._

**95\. EXT. PHILADELPHIA FIELD – DAY**

CAPTION:

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

June 10th, 1977

_After we hold on black for a long while, we fade in to a wide-open country field. The sky is perfectly blue and the hot Sun beats down harshly upon the crispy, brown grass. Two manual laborers are digging holes for tree planting. They both wear dirt and sweat-stained coveralls and wide-rimmed hats to protect them from the warm Summer Sunbeams. One of them, JIM __**[Albert Popwell]**__, is a mustachioed black man with short, curly hair. His eyes are intense and distrusting, but they contain no malice. He has gotten on in his years, and his well-toned body looks like an after-effect of a difficult life, rather than a conscious effort at physical conditioning. He speaks with a Southern accent, walks with a slight limp, and has a large tattoo on his arm which reads "_Always and Forever_". Generally speaking, Jim performs his work with a disciplined ethic, but little in the way of personal satisfaction._

_The other worker takes a moment to rest, lowering the hat from his forehead to wipe the sweat collecting on his brow. We see that it is Dale Cooper __**[Kyle MacLachlan]**__, grown up a ways now, and looking more like the man we all recognize. He is, however, still very young. He keeps sneaking curious glances at Jim, quickly turning the other way whenever Jim looks back. After this happens a few times, Jim speaks, not slowing his work pace as he does so._

JIM:

There somethin' on your mind, boy?

_Dale is embarrassed to have been caught staring and turns away._

JIM:

No use lookin' away all sheepish-like. Don't think I didn't see you starin' at me the other day, too, like I was some kind of Goddamn sideshow attraction. Come on, then. Out with it.

DALE:

I was admiring your tattoo.

JIM:

Admiring, nothing. You was staring. Don't you know it's impolite to stare someone down without asking?

DALE:

I'm sorry, sir. May I see your tattoo?

_With an inconvenienced, but secretly flattered, sigh, Jim halts his work and rolls up his sleeve to display the art gracing his forearm. Dale is mystified._

DALE:

What does it mean?

JIM:

You ever done time, boy?

DALE:

Done what?

JIM:

Prison! You ever been in prison?

DALE:

No, sir.

JIM:

Can't recommend it, myself. It'd eat up and spit out a young boy like you. But, I served ten long years. This, here, tattoo is what got me through it. Whenever I'd feel like my time was wastin' away, I'd remind myself that prison was only for ten years... but the time I had afterwards was "always and forever".

_Cooper is grinning from ear to ear, every word out of this man's mouth a treasure trove to his cusp of adulthood knowledge-lust._

JIM:

So, what's your story? Why are you out here digging holes with ex-cons? You look more like a waiter to me.

_Dale laughs._

DALE:

I just got back from a... long journey of self-discovery. I've been away from home four years. Far away... and, now that I'm back, everything is wholly unfamiliar to me. As of this moment, I'm killing time, waiting for whatever's next, and some good, honest toil seemed a better alternative to sitting around and twiddling my thumbs.

JIM:

What'chu mean, "waitin' for whatever's next"?

DALE:

Well, pending on the results from my SAT scores, I'm either going to University this Fall... or I'm going to join the circus.

_Jim lets out a boisterous cackle of delight at the young man's quirkiness._

JIM:

You're somethin' else, you know that, boy? If you was in the circus, what would your talent be?

DALE:

I'm quite adept at knife throwing.

JIM:

You are, huh?

_Jim gets a sly look on his face, then jumps out of his hole and limps over to Dale. He extends his hand._

JIM:

My name's Jim. What's yours?

DALE:

Dale.

_Dale shakes the man's hand. Jim rapidly pulls a knife from the inside pocket of his boot and flips it through the air, agilely catching it._

JIM:

Okay, then, Mr. Knife-Thrower Dale. Let's see what ya can do.

**96\. EXT. PHILADELPHIA FIELD – DAY**

_Cooper and Jim are further out in the field, taking turns throwing the knife at a hastily assembled target, several meters away. In the shade of the field's only tree is Jim's hat, resting upside down. Ten dollars lay inside. Dale's first throw hits the target._

JIM:

So, tell me more about this soul searchin' you been doin'.

DALE:

There's no frontier as grand and ever-changing as one's own soul. It would be tempting to devote every waking moment towards the discovery of our own inner light.

JIM:

But, then, why did ya have to go _out_ on a trip in order to discover what was _inside_ of yo'self all along? Don't you think us homebodies is just as capable of discoverin' ourselves?

_Dale has retrieved the knife and hands it to Jim, who throws it and hits the target._

DALE:

Everyone has their own journey, I'm sure. But, it's just... after my mother died, my house felt very bleak. And then, shortly afterwards, a girl I liked very much drowned, alone in a lake. I felt like I was slowly dying as well, living in that same small house... So, I left to go discover myself.

JIM:

And, what did you find out?

DALE:

That I have much left to discover. The whole universe is one bright pearl, and there is no need to understand it.

_Dale throws his knife and hits the target._

JIM:

Now, that be the gospel truth right there, son. What is, is, and what ain't, ain't. And, there's no point in trying to sort the rest out, ya know what I'm sayin'? So, where did your travels take you?

DALE:

One side of America to the next. Mexico, Central America, Brazil... China...

JIM:

China! Damn, boy! That's a long ways from home. What the hell was you in China for?

_Jim throws the knife. Dale smiles, sifting through the haze of recent experiences that managed to remain recorded in his recollections._

DALE:

You know... It's a fascinating thing, how the memory functions. The experiences I had South of the border are as clear and vivid to me now as they were when I lived them, first-hand. What I learned down there, I will take with me until my final days. But, my journey to the East is... fuzzy.

JIM:

Fuzzy?

DALE:

I remember feeling perpetually exhausted. And, I recall learning a lot. But, by the time I was ready to leave... it had all faded. Like a blurry dream, when you remember pieces, but nothing specific. I'm not even sure how I got there, because it was damn-well difficult figuring out a route back.

_Dale narrows his eyes and focuses on something distant and unattainable.._

DALE:

There's two full weeks of my life that are completely lost to me. I have no memory or record of what took place during them...

JIM:

Goddamn, that's peculiar.

DALE:

The only thing I know for certain is that I regret not visiting the one place in the world I am most fascinated by...

JIM:

And, where might that be?

_Dale throws his knife once more. It revolves end-over-end as it flies it's course across the field._

DALE:

Tibet.

_The knife hits it's target right in the head. Dale grins with satisfaction, and wanders off to fetch the knife._

DALE:

So, what were you in prison for, Jim?

_Jim repositions his jaw in reluctance to delve into detail._

JIM:

I loved someone too much, and I let it get the best of me. Now, let's leave it be.

_Jim throws the knife with deadly pinpoint accuracy right through the heart of the target._

JIM:

Don't ever fall in love, Dale. Don't ever let a woman get your guard down. It does nothin' good for ya. Don't let no one tell ya otherwise.

_Dale takes his next shot with the knife, but his throw goes horribly awry. Looking down, he sees the blade impaled in the toe of his boot, the knife wagging back and forth._

JIM:

That won't fly in the circus, Mr. Knife-Thrower Dale.

_Dale leans down and pulls the knife from his boot. The suction releases with a loud pop. He returns the knife to Jim, who pockets the ten dollars they had bet on the match and caps himself with his hat. Jim puts his arm around Dale and points out toward the makeshift target._

JIM:

Ya just ain't _seeing_ the target. Ya can't just throw at it. Ya have to _see_ it.

DALE:

Do you practice Zen?

JIM:

Only thing I practice is stayin' alive.

**97\. EXT. DOWNTOWN PHILADELPHIA, RUNDOWN ALLEYWAY – NIGHT**

_Several nights later, Dale is accompanying Jim to his apartment, located in a run-down area of town. The two quietly pass through a dank, urine-stained alleyway, stepping over tramps and vagrants, until Jim comes upon the back door of his room. He pulls out three separate keys and unlatches a network of padlocks and bolts until the door is able to open up, and both men enter._

**98\. INT. JIM'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_The room is such a stark black that the two laborers cannot even see their hands in front of their faces. Jim feels around the wall and flicks a switch. A bare lightbulb, hanging from a long strand of wires, sparks to life, swinging to and fro from the ceiling. The light is unable to cast it's essence across the entire room at any one moment, so it's swinging motion illuminates opposing corners of the room in a reliable rhythm, making the apartment feel like a ship swaying back and forth at sea._

_The room is only 10 x 12, with nothing more than a bed and chair serving as furnishings. But, filling the empty spaces are stacks upon stacks of papers, all of which appear to have been meticulously hand-written upon. They are stored in boxes that go from floor to ceiling. Despite the humble living accommodations, Dale is thrilled by what he beholds._

JIM:

After ten years of hard time... this has been my cell for the many years that followed.

DALE:

What is on all this parchment?

_Jim chuckles._

JIM:

"Parchment". You sound like a college boy, all right. Still look like a waiter, though. These papers here... These are my remembrances. I been writin' them for twenty years now.

DALE:

"Remembrances"...

JIM:

No one's ever seen this before. You're the first.

_Dale is without words. Jim finds it a painful task to express his feelings, but struggles an attempt, regardless..._

JIM:

Just so's someone would know... Someone who would remember...

_Jim extends his hand out to Dale and they shake._

JIM:

Listen, kid... You dig a good hole. Now, you best get on outta here before somebody gets the wrong idea, okay?

DALE:

Thank you for showing me this, Jim.

_Dale leaves through the same door he had entered. Jim stands alone in his room, looking over his life's work. The lightbulb above him brightens and dims with fluctuating Electricity, sparks spreading through the air._

**99\. EXT. DOWNTOWN PHILADELPHIA, BUS – NIGHT**

_Dale is sitting on a crowded bus at a window seat. All manner of unscrupulous riffraff fill the densely packed community transport. Dale looks at the night road as it passes by, his own reflection peering back at him from the fingerprint-smudged window. He is still smiling from the honor which had just been bestowed upon him. He whispers to himself..._

DALE:

"Someone who would remember"...

_It suddenly dawns on Dale what this cryptic statement meant. He sees his own smile instantly vanish in the window. Springing to a stand, Dale tugs at the stop cord and pushes through commuters on his way to the door._

**100\. EXT. DOWNTOWN PHILADELPHIA, RUNDOWN ALLEYWAY – NIGHT**

_Dale is running down the street, back towards Jim's room, as fast as his feet can take him. As he is coming down the hill above, he sees that the apartment has already been set ablaze. Firemen are on the scene, extinguishing the flames. The firefighters make their way out of the room, coated in soot. Panting, Dale makes his inquiries to a lone FIREFIGHTER._

DALE:

What happened?

FIREFIGHTER:

Place went up like a torch. No idea what started it. Best thing we could do was prevent it from spreading to the entire building.

DALE:

There was a man who lived here. Did he make it out alive?

FIREFIGHTER:

Well, we didn't pull anyone out, and we haven't uncovered a body, but the fire was so intense from all that paper that it'll probably take a forensics team to find any remains. Sorry, kid.

**101\. EXT. DOWNTOWN PHILADELPHIA, RUNDOWN ALLEYWAY – NIGHT**

_Dale Cooper is sitting on a stone bumper at the edge of a parking lot, watching the firefighters clean up from afar. He looks at what shambles remain of the private domain that he was so humbled to have been allowed access to only an hour before..._

_A noise to his left catches his attention, and he glimpses a shadowy figure running down an alleyway. Without hesitation, Dale jumps up and gives chase. He rounds a corner and comes to the center of a maze of alleys, but does not find anyone in any direction. He does, however, hear the muffled sound of laughter._

DALE:

Jim! Is that you?

_Dale notices something on the ground at his feet. He kneels down to pick it up. We close in on the small item as he revolves it between his fingers. It is a lead pencil, freshly sharpened..._

**102\. EXT. HAVERFORD UNIVERSITY – DAY**

SUBTITLE:

Haverford University, Philadelphia

August 21st, 1977

_One of the finest academic institutions in all of Philadelphia, Haverford University bolsters a well-maintained campus designed in Quaker and Colonial architecture. Lush and diverse greenery surrounds the man-made structures, adding a healthy natural flourish to the grounds. Inside the men's school, Dale Cooper is being admitted by the school's Dean._

**103\. INT. HAVERFORD UNIVERSITY, DEAN'S OFFICE – DAY**

_Dale Cooper is enthusiastically seated before the monolith of a desk which belongs to the HAVERFORD DEAN __**[Larry Miller]**__. The room is a shrine to personal accomplishment, with diplomas, plaques, medals, honors and photographs showcasing highlights of the Dean's career._

_Dale wears his finest suit, and has his hair slicked to each side from his crown with thick product. The Dean is looking over Dale's personal papers, clearly impressed by their marks, and addresses him with support. The smile on his face and gleam in his eye most likely reflect his excitement at the higher academic score the new inductee will skew for the institution, rather than merely altruistic support for the eager young man._

DEAN:

Well, Dale... after reviewing your SAT scores, which are...

_The Dean lets out a "whew" as he marvels at the results._

DEAN:

_Intimidating_... On behalf of Haverford University, it is my great pleasure to induct you as one of our alumni.

DALE:

Thank you very much, sir. My father will be most relieved to hear that the circus is off.

_The Dean laughs at this curious admission._

DEAN:

Yes... I imagine most fathers would... Now, we've got you a room at Gummere Hall. It's a more prestigious housing for underclassmen, which I think you'll find extremely comfortable. If there are any questions you have on our academic procedures here, I'd be more than happy to answer them, personally. And, you'll be issued with a copy of our curriculum before the weekend.

DALE:

Actually, sir, I've already taken the liberty of reviewing the school's curriculum in my personal time. I found it to be an excellent guideline for an exceptionally functioning school, specifically regarding the honor code, which I found to be quite progressive.

_The Dean chuckles, somewhat smugly._

DEAN:

Oh. Well, thank you very much.

DALE:

Regardless, I've taken it upon myself to draft up a list of minor improvements that may facilitate a greater sense of cohesion and proficiency among the student body.

_Dale pulls out a dense portfolio and hands it over to the Dean._

DEAN:

Oh, yes... I see...

_The Dean puts on his spectacles and skims quickly over the documents, having no intention of actually reading them. He lowers the paper and smiles at Cooper._

DEAN:

I admire your gusto, Dale. In fact... I may have an even better home for you... As it happens, we've been looking for a young gentleman of precisely your moral caliber to act as head monitor of the Henry S. Drinker House. You'd be given a private suite. How would you feel about being put in charge of some of our more... free-spirited students?

_Dale treats the imposition as a privilege._

DALE:

I would be honored, sir! And up for the challenge! I am fully confidant that I can manage any group of determined young scholars.

_The Dean wryly chuckles._

DEAN:

I can tell you haven't spent much time around college students before. Let's see how fast you learn to fly, eh?

**104\. INT. HAVERFORD UNIVERSITY, GYMNASIUM – DAY**

_Dale is led through the gymnasium by a couple staff members. A pep rally is being held, and an armada of football players rush out onto the gym floor with their arms raised high to an accompaniment of thunderous applause. A gathering of students behind them are chanting "KILL, QUAKERS, KILL!", and hold up signs with images of Quakers stringing up their opponents by nooses. Off to the side are an especially barbaric fragment of the sign-wielding fan-base chanting "KILL CORNELL REDS!", complete with graphic renderings of their opponents' disembowelment and an effigy of a blood-splattered grizzly bear which they stab mercilessly with a pitchfork. Dale looks horrified at either direction, but the staff members continue walking swiftly, facing forward and paying the ritualistic display no mind. Dale follows in suite._

**105\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, SECOND FLOOR COMMON ROOM – DAY**

_Dale enters the common room of his dormitory house. The record player is on, blasting "Jungle" by Electric Light Orchestra loudly throughout the building, and most likely leaking outside. Lethargic underclassmen are sprawled across the room and on the floor in contorted positions as they smoke weed and drink beer. The room is thick with a cloud of herbal fog._

_Dale stands squarely in the middle of the room, a dorky smile of optimism decorating his face. He lays down his luggage, puts his hands on his hips, and proudly proclaims his dominance._

DALE:

Hello, everyone! My name is Dale Cooper, and I will be in charge of all the students on this floor!

_Someone throws a crushed beer can at Dale's forehead. He does his best to not let it diminish his smile._

**106\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, COOPER'S SUITE – NIGHT**

_Dale's suite is small, but clean and comfortable, just the way he likes it. The furnishings consist of one bed, placed fairly high above the floor, a desk for writing and studying, and a closet. Dale is sitting perfectly upright in his bed, dressed in a green and orange cardigan sweater, and speaking into his brand new hand-held portable tape recorder._

DALE:

Do not believe the majority of students on my floor are interested in a higher level of consciousness unless it is aided by chemicals of one form or another. Appears from the silence that no one remains on this floor, and that the last can of beer has finally been consumed. While I have experienced a number of mind-altering fungi and natural fauna used by what we refer to as "primitive cultures", never have I witnessed a tribal display of such debauchery that could hold a candle to a large group of eighteen-year-old Americans away from home for the first time. My attempts at reason and quiet diplomacy fell on deaf ears as they began to wrap themselves in toilet paper from head to foot and chant "we want women." I retreated to the relative quiet of my room and read the writings of a monk who lived alone on a mountaintop for thirty-seven years in search of a deeper understanding of the world. His main conclusion, when he came down, was that you can see very far on a mountain unless it is cloudy. Imprisoned for his radical ideas, he died several years later in jail. The only writing from this time period that survived is the line: "There are no clouds in a prison." Believe that I will make a trip down the street to the woman's college, Bryn Mawr, in the hope of making contact with thinking human beings.

_With a click, the recording ends._

**107\. EXT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY – NIGHT**

_Dale is cheerily strolling along a road outside the women's campus Bryn Mawr, a luxurious and immaculately maintained school that is also adorned with gorgeous foliage and greenery. There are a few passersby, but the backside of the school is mostly empty. Despite the warmth of the grounds' design, night has cast it's darkness over the land. The only sources of light are the far-spread lamp posts that line the streets. Dark shadows are cast by the angled roofs of the buildings._

_ As Dale passes by an alcove, he notices a SHIFTY MAN __**[Crispin Glover]**__ sitting alone in the umbrage. The man is thin and pale, with long, greasy hair. He looks up at Dale with lost, weary eyes. On the left side of his face is a giant growth, nearly the size of a grapefruit. It is so immense that it stretches the skin of his face taught. The growth was circular at one point, but the edge seems to have burst, leaving an inflamed, pink, hollow recess. The entire boil seems to throb with a living, cancerous, evil. The two men say nothing as their eyes meet, and Dale passes by with haste, but a brief connection is made that neither of them is likely to forget._

_ Dale approaches the doors of the front lobby. A few people flutter in and out, and Dale lets himself in. Above the doors is a wooden shield with a carving of the school's mascot: three Owls._

**108\. INT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY, AUDITORIUM – NIGHT**

_A student union is being held, but the auditorium is only filled with a smattering of attendees. Standing before a lectern on the stage is a WICCAN PRESENTER. She wears a hand-sewn white dress and has wild brown hair falling to her waist. Beside her is a placard that says "_Athena's Circle – an open discussion of alternative religions_". Dale takes a seat near the edge of the isle and listens to the presentation._

WICCAN:

It's important to remember that there are a plethora of alternative religions regularly in practice by normal, everyday people. And each of these practices is as legitimate, and as harmless as the next. We Wicca are not "scary". In fact, I could easily argue that some of America's mainstream religions are much more frightening.

_The audience laughs, and Dale joins in with a chuckle. MADGE __**[Patricia Arquette]**__, a pretty girl with short, asymmetrical hair and teeth-with-character, sits a few empty seats down the row. She notices Dale and forwardly moves over to sit next to him, initiating a round of ice-breaking chatter._

MADGE:

Hey. Are you from Haverford?

DALE:

Yes I am. Checked into my room today, in fact. I'm Dale.

_Dale offers his hand, and Madge shakes it._

MADGE:

Madge. What brings you over to Bryn Mawr?

DALE:

An attempt to establish contact with intelligent life.

_Madge laughs._

MADGE:

I'm here to see my friend April. She's speaking next about Theosophy. But afterwards, me and my friends are going to have a few drinks. Want to join?

_Dale smiles._

**109\. INT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY, DORM COMMON ROOM – NIGHT**

_A small group of girls are sitting in a misshapen circle conjoined from two chairs, a couch, and a lumpy beanbag. A record player in the corner of the room is playing "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" by Joan Baez. The women are all chatting loudly, benefiting from the confidence-boosting effects of minor intoxication. A graveyard of emptied Tequila and Bourbon bottles are respectfully laid to rest in carefully aligned rows across the center table._

_The cramped room is noisy due to the concurrent conversations between multiple parties, as well as the maximized volume of the music. The air is, once again, cloudy from weed. Indeed, there is little difference between this room and the male dorm common Dale had previously come from, except for the intellectual level of the conversation and the organized arrangement of depleted beverage containers._

_Dale, reeling from his alcohol consumption, sits on the sofa between APRIL __**[Glenne Headly]**__ and Madge. A skinny girl with curly, red hair named ANDY __**[Laura Dern]**__sits on the beanbag, smoking a joint. Although the conversation is being dominated by April's ranting, Andy is devoting most of her attention to the only boy in their midst. Poor Dale, however, is finding difficulty devoting his mind to much of anything._

APRIL:

It's about culmination, isn't it? We're all building towards greater understanding as a species. Everything we learn gets passed down to the next generation and so on, until we all grow into our full potential. That's why we're here. That is our purpose. Our mission. Which is precisely why all this political, nationalistic, partisan bullshit that keeps us going around in circles is the worst thing for this country! We should only have one political party, and call it "Truth".

MADGE:

I'll drink to that!

ANDY:

Madge, you'd drink to anything.

MADGE:

I'll drink to that, too!

_Everyone laughs while Madge takes another shot of Bourbon._

ANDY:

Seriously, April, I was all ready to join you in starting a Bryn Mawr Theosophical Society... until you mentioned Atlantis.

_The group laughs and rags on April, while she raises her voice to try and defend her view._

APRIL:

It's all in Timaeus! You can't dispute the evidence! Just read – Look, Plato said –

ANDY:

Oh, well, if Plato said so, then it _must_ be true...

_Dale begins to lower his head, drowsily, onto Madge's shoulder._

ANDY:

Hey... what's with the new guy? He doesn't look so good.

_Dale brings his head back up. His speech noticeably slurs as he denies anything being the matter._

DALE:

No, no, no, no, no. I'm fine. I'm fine.

MADGE:

You don't drink much, do you?

DALE:

Not too much. Not too much. But, I can keep up with you ladies, no problem.

_The entire room screeches in unison "LADIES?", and follow with massive laughter. JO comes in from the back room with a curious and potentially toxic concoction of mixed alcoholic beverages, handing the glass off to Dale._

JO:

Here, try this for a pick-me-up. It's something I invented myself. I call it a "Manhattan Project".

**110\. EXT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY – NIGHT**

_The vacant exterior of the campus is dark and dismal at this late hour. From high above the roof, we look down upon the women who are carrying out a dizzy, shaky-legged Dale Cooper, hoping to direct him down the path towards his own room. Realizing that he does not possess the faculties for independent movement, they opt to carefully walk him home._

**111\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, COOPER'S SUITE – NIGHT**

_Dale is lying in the bed of his private suite, tossing and turning through an uneasy sleep as morbid thoughts rampage through his subconscious. The bedroom is completely dark, but a white light is slowly building up from outside the room, spilling in via the crack under the door. Even though it is subtle, the light manages to offer some illumination to the black, confined space. Dale slowly awakens as he takes notice of the growing light source. Though initially sluggish and drowsy, a loud pounding against the door jolts him into an instant state of alertness. He jumps up in his bed and shouts._

DALE:

Who's there!? What do you want!?

_The handle jiggles back and forth, the secured lock barring entrance. Dale notices with worry that the light from under the door is growing red, and smoke is faintly drifting in. A frightened, desperate voice screams to Dale from the other side._

MARIE:

Dale... I'm not ready! Please! I'm not ready!

DALE:

Marie?

_The door is ripped off it's hinges from some demonic force beyond and clatters loudly onto the floor. A thick cloud of smoke wafts in from the other side, and a pale-faced Marie dashes into Dale's room in terror. But, just as she barely gets past the door frame, a pair of dirt-encrusted hands grab her and violently pull her back through the doorway and into the fiery smoke._

**112\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, COOPER'S SUITE – NIGHT**

_Dale wakes up from his terrible nightmare, panting heavily. He sits upright and takes in his surroundings. To his relief, he sees that the door is still attached to the wall. Dale checks his pulse, slows his breathing, and tries to make sense of his vision._

**113\. EXT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY – DAY**

_It's a beautiful, Sunny day at the Bryn Mawr campus, and Dale Cooper is once again strolling along the outside road. This time, however, he is lost in thought as he tries to piece together his recent dream. He passes by an athletic field where two teams of women are playing field hockey. As Dale briskly walks past, failing to heed any attention towards his surroundings, an errant field hockey ball hits him in squarely in the side of his head with enough force to knock him over and onto the grass._

_Though his point of view, everything is a blue blurry haze as he looks up into the bright sky. Allowing his vision to refocus, a red fuzz comes into view. It is the hair of Andy, standing above him wearing a tight mini-skirt and wielding a field hockey club, slung over her shoulder. She extends a hand to help him up. Still reeling from the hit on the head, Dale is momentarily delusional._

ANDY:

Oh my God! I'm so sorry... Let me see your head...

DALE:

¡Ay, ay, ay! Hoy me recuerdas a un pequeño chihuahua de México...

ANDY:

… I didn't know you could speak Spanish.

DALE:

Speak what, now?

_Andy inspects Dale's cranium, checking for fractures, allowing him to lean on her._

ANDY:

Let's get you some ice for that head of yours, Dale.

DALE:

You remembered my name...

_Dale is dizzily smiling, his head resting on her warm shoulder. Andy turns back to her teammates and shouts._

ANDY:

Okay, time out! And... that was a do-over, you got me!?

**114\. INT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY, ICE MACHINE – DAY**

_At the end of a dormitory hall is a noisy ice machine, it's cooling engines buzzing incessantly. Dale's arm is wrapped around Andy's shoulders as she precariously balances an ice pack upon his head. They speak louder than normal to compensate for the noisy machine._

ANDY:

I had no idea my aim was so good.

_Andy checks the surface of his scalp and discovers an incline._

ANDY:

Uh-oh. You've got a bump growing on the side of your noggin', there!.

DALE:

I'm certain that with enough concentration, I can will the swelling down.

ANDY:

Yaknow... I'm sensing a pattern in your mobility whenever we meet. Do you always have difficulty walking when you're around girls? Or is it just an excuse to rest your head on our shoulders?

_Dale flashes a wry grin._

DALE:

… Maybe a bit of both.

_Andy smiles at the quirky student._

ANDY:

And, just why is it that you find yourself so inexorably drawn back to our campus time and again, hm?

DALE:

As I've said before, I have a difficult time relating to the students at my own. I don't smoke cannabis, I don't find fecal evacuation to be particularly amusing, and I am of the minority opinion that one should come to University to engage in studying. The women here are on a far higher intellectual plane than my Haverford brethren.

ANDY:

You're trying to tell me that you're really just here for the scintillating conversation?

DALE:

Well, I wouldn't turn down any other offers, mind you.

_Andy helps Dale find his own footing. Satisfied that he no longer needs outside assistance to remain bipedal, she prepares to head back out to the field. Before leaving, Andy offers Dale an invitation._

ANDY:

Why don't you join us tomorrow night at the homecoming bonfire?

DALE:

I'd love to. Where should I meet you?

ANDY:

Just look for a big fire... and then walk towards it. I'll be there.

_Andy gives Dale a wink as she walks outside, hockey stick in hand. Dale watches her leave from behind. Once she's out of earshot, he emits a wolf whistle._

**115\. EXT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY, BONFIRE – NIGHT**

_Two small, glowing, orange flakes of burning wood are dancing a pirouette in the air, slowly descending down towards the Earth that houses the massive embers from which they were spawned. They are joined by thousands of other sparks that are also carried along the cool Autumn breeze._

_Dale Cooper is sitting on a log within a large circle of students surrounding a massive bonfire, his face awash in an orange glow. The flames stretch up high into the starry sky. "Sitting" by Cat Stevens is being played on a record player while couples and __love__rs are holding hands and swaying back and forth, mirroring the movements of the fire. Someone in a giant Owl mascot costume is dancing in strange, swaying motions which resemble Egyptian hieroglyphics. His shadow distorts itself bizarrely upon the grass._

_Directly in front of the seated Cooper, Andy dances before the fire. She allows her hips to take on a life of their own, bouncing up and down and back and forth, matching the fluidity of the flames behind them. She gazes suggestively into Dale's eyes and extends her perfectly manicured hand, beckoning him to join her with ruby red fingernails. Cooper stands up and places each of his hands upon her hips, allowing them to be carried along with her gyrations. He keeps his body perfectly still while Andy moves hers around wildly, rubbing up against him with a sexually charged energy. They whisper a few words into each other's ears._

DALE:

I've walked barefoot across a bed of embers in a very faraway and distant culture...

ANDY:

My father was a fireman...

_Andy kisses Dale, sliding her tongue deep into his mouth. No more words are exchanged. Their two bodies are bathed in the orange from the nearby flames. After only a few moments, they both share the urge to run off and find an area of privacy. They abandon the warm fire and explore the cold darkness, hand in hand. The Moon is out in full, it's awesome power and influence more evident with every step away from the fireside._

**116\. EXT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY, ARBORETUM – NIGHT**

_The lush and expansive arboretum of the campus offers innumerable areas of concealment. Dale and Andy find a sufficiently shadowy spot under a Bur Oak tree, shaded even from the Moonlight. They drop to their knees and hurriedly remove their clothing, never breaking away from their kissing. Once the two are naked, they roll about in the tall grass, the green reeds wrapping around their bodies like tiny snakes._

_Time passes quickly, and we cut to different positions the two of them take as they have sex. Dale is deep inside Andy, and as they begin to climax, the embankment gives way and their bodies slide down into the water below._

ANDY:

YES! YES! YES!

_Andy screams in orgasm as they splash into the lake, together. They both stand up, naked and drenched, and realize that the faculty barbeque is being held here, illuminated by tacky plastic Tiki lights. The embarrassed students splash away quickly as an inhumanely overweight PHYSICAL EDUCATION TEACHER investigates._

P.E. TEACHER:

Is someone back there? Do you need help?

STAFF MEMBER:

What's going on?

P.E. TEACHER:

I think someone's drowning!

**117\. EXT. BRYN MAWR UNIVERSITY – NIGHT**

_Andy is buttoning up her shirt, and Dale is pulling up his trousers. Andy's previously flirtatious attitude has vanished, instead replaced by a distant curtness._

ANDY:

Thanks, Dale. I had a lot of fun tonight. I wish I could stay longer. I promise I'll look you up when I get back.

DALE:

Oh... you're leaving? Where are you going?

ANDY:

On an exchange trip to Holland. My flight's this morning.

DALE:

What are you studying?

ANDY:

Dike construction.

DALE:

When will you get back?

ANDY:

Six months.

_Dale cannot hide his disappointment._

DALE:

Well, can I at least take you to the airport?

ANDY:

No, you'd better not. My husband will be seeing me off.

**118\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, COOPER'S SUITE – NIGHT**

_Cooper is sitting slouched forward in his bed. His ordinarily perky features are down-turned in an unnatural deflation. It seems as though depression is unavoidably leering it's ugly presence into Cooper's personal aura. He is dressed in his bright red thermal underwear, which covers his entire body below neck. His friend HOWARD TELLER __**[Jack Black]**__, a bug-eyed young man with some extra belly padding and ample body hair spilling out from under his shirt,__ is walking back and forth before the bed. He does his best to offer Dale some sage wisdom._

HOWARD:

Oh, man up, bro. So, some chick used you for a little free tail on the side before heading off to some far-away lesbian colony. So, what?

DALE:

She's studying dikes, Howard. Giant levees made out of stone that facilitate water relocation.

HOWARD:

Well, whatever she's "studying", the point is, this girl wasn't anything to hang onto. She was just some mindless fun. You got a nice bang for your buck, and evacuated with no strings attached. Sounds to me like win-win. 'Sides, you wouldn't want to be tied down to her, anyways. She's a cheater, right? You see, this is what college is all about, Dale. Mindless, perpetual fucking.

DALE:

And, here I was under the delusion that it was about heightening one's intellectual capacities and furthering one's career prospects.

_Howard shakes his head and "tut tuts"._

HOWARD:

You really need to sort out your priorities. Come on. We're heading out.

_Howard tosses Cooper's jacket at him._

DALE:

Where are we going?

_Howard raises an eyebrow and embellishes an introduction with a dramatic flair._

HOWARD:

To where all the finest fully formed fuckable formations frolic before they fornicate.

_Dale shakes his head in bewilderment._

DALE:

Wow... I can't imagine how long you must've been waiting to use that string of alliteration...

HOWARD:

Trust me, bro. We need to get you laid in the worst way.

DALE:

Couldn't we shoot for getting me laid in the _best_ way?

**119\. EXT. THE RABID MONGREL – NIGHT**

_The joint is just dripping with sleaze and seed. It is a dirty den of debauchery, set under a fuzzy neon glow. The kitschy sign above the door erotically depicts a woman's leg in stockings and high heels, with a foaming, rabid bulldog tenaciously humping it. The neon sign exchanges positions to give the illusion that the dog's pelvis is thrusting back and forth._

_A herd of motorcycles take up most of the parking space, and slimy, finger-snapping jazz music howls from within. Howard gestures theatrically with one hand towards the bar._

HOWARD:

Behold. The Rabid Mongrel. If you can't get it here, Dale, then you ain't getting it nowheres.

**120\. INT. THE RABID MONGREL – NIGHT**

_The floor is littered with cigarette butts, beer bottles, and broken shards of glass. Each step Dale takes is met with sharp crunches, not that much can be heard under the tunes. Through the thick haze of smoke, Dale can see that the bar is peopled with hard-edged men looking for something to take, and desperate women with nothing left to lose. The left side of the room, which houses the pool table, is being dominated by an imposing biker gang._

_ A jazz band performs a sultry song called "Kool Kat Walk", and a sexy Latina woman in a red dress is singing with a high, Angelic voice. Men and women dance below the stage, grinding their hips and pelvises against one another's._

_ Dale and Howard find a pair of empty stools at the bar and sit. The gruff, bearded bartender sends them dirty looks. Howard orders drinks while Dale surveys the room. Many of the women are already attached to their fellas, but there seems to be a small gathering of unclaimed females at the right end of the bar. They are all dressed in titillating outfits with flashy colors and hazardously high heels. Most of the women left over are of an older age, but one younger, MOUSEY GIRL __**[Michelle Seipp]**__ catches Dale's eyes.__ She has carrot-colored hair and wears a tight green dress with white leggings. She gives off an air of inexperience compared to the other girls, the sexually suggestive looks she intends to give passing men coming across as meek._

_ Howard turns away from the bartender and back to Dale with two drinks in hand, taking his attention away from the Mousy Girl._

HOWARD:

Here you are, my man. You like Heineken, right?

DALE:

Never tried it. I'm really not much of a drinker.

_Howard looks at him, his face presenting an inability to achieve comprehension._

HOWARD:

Well, prepare to have your world turned on it's head and shaken with gusto, my friend. Cheers to us and our imminent jaunt parking our jalopies up pretty pink drive, eh?

_Dale hesitantly joins Howard in the toast, their two beer bottles clinking together. Dale takes a swig of his too quickly, coughing as the alcohol travels down the wrong pipe. Howard, however, chugs down an ample portion of his without any problem._

_ Dale glances back towards the Mousy Girl with some sustained interest, but sees that a burly man in plaid with a shaved head has already begun talking to her, offering to buy her a drink. Dale is disappointed to see that the only woman in the bar he had any remote interest in has just been snatched up._

_ Howard's head is caught up in the music, jiving without any sense of rhythm. A second woman has joined the band up on stage and has removed her top. She has milky brown skin and black of night hair. She sways her hips back and forth, and the men below her stuff bills into her panties. Seeing this erotic spectacle has gotten Howard excited, inciting him to take another swill of beer and then turn to Dale._

HOWARD:

Alright. Showtime. You ready to get in there?

DALE:

I dunno, Howard. I'm just not seeing anyone I'm really interested in.

HOWARD:

Come on, man! You can't wimp out on me now! We came here for you, and there are some prime cuts of feline meat in there just waiting for you to salivate all over.

DALE:

I wouldn't really describe any of these as "prime cuts". Most of them look like they're pushing fifty. And, suffering from serious skin conditions.

HOWARD:

Suit yourself. But, hey... they all look the same in the dark.

_Howard holds a shrugged shoulders pose and slides smoothly off of his stool. He saunters towards the gallery of women up for auction. The specimen he approaches is sucking drags from a cigarette and wearing far too much make-up in a failed attempt to disguise her wrinkles. Howard says something inaudible to her, to which she laughs in a deep, raspy voice. Dale notices with some discomfort that she uses her long, red faux fingernails to liberally scratch a persistent itch on the genitals concealed under her tights._

_ Dale turns back to the bar and attempts a second drink from his beer. He casually passes a glimpse across the seat recently vacated by Howard and, much to his surprise and instant recognition, sees the Shifty Man. The withered, unhealthy man has his head buried in his hands and a half-dozen empty bottles spread before him. The large growth on the left side of his face looks even larger than the last time Dale saw it._

_ A surly truck driver takes the vacant spot between the two and orders a drink. Dale keeps an eye on the ailing man past the trucker, but also uses the opportunity to not be seen. The Shifty Man lifts up his head to take another swill of his beer. His hands are shaky, and he shows signs of an obsessive-compulsive disorder as he repeatedly touches the bar top and his chest in a specific pattern. He mutters to himself under his breath._

SHIFTY MAN:

No ripping. No ripping. No, no, no, no, no more ripping. I don't wanna rip anymore. I don't wanna. I just want to sleep. Just let me sleep. Just let me die. I'm so tired. So tired. No more ripping. No more... No more...

_The giant growth on the side of his face begins pulsating and slowly expelling a thick, creamy substance with the consistency of porridge. The Shifty Man jumps up, holding his growth, and runs off towards the men's restroom, pushing everyone out of his way._

_ Dale watches him go, taking a moment to feel sorrow for those less fortunate than he, and then turns his attention back towards Howard. He is already kissing the older woman he was just chatting up, a layer of her overabundance of heavily-applied lipstick rubbing off onto his face. Howard gives Dale a thumb's up from over her shoulder. Dale returns the gesture._

_ Dale scans the room and spots the Mousy Girl. She is backing away from the man in plaid and shouting at him. He grabs her arm and tries to pull her towards him, copping a feel under her skirt. She slaps him, a violent reaction that he returns with an upped ante in force. Dale almost intervenes at this indiscretion, despite the fact that he would have been physically outmatched. The Mousy Girl backs away, holding her cheek, and cries. The man just shrugs her off and returns to his drink._

_ Dale's eyes follow the Mousy Girl as she pushes her way through the crowd on her way to the front door. She walks past the restrooms just as the Shifty Man exits them. As she passes by, a perverse intensity takes him over. He bites down on his pinky and slowly pulls it out of his mouth. After the Mousy Girl pushes her way out the front door, the Shifty Man glances back and forth and then follows her._

_ Having seen all of this transpire, and concerned for the girl's safety, Dale stands up, leaving his barely touched beer behind on the bar top. Keeping his eyes on the door, he approaches Howard, who is still making out with his catch._

DALE:

Hey, Howard. I'm gonna head on out, okay. I appreciate the thought, but this isn't my scene. You enjoy yourself, though.

HOWARD:

Suit yourself, Dale. But... ah... don't wait up, yeah?

_Dale makes a beeline for the front exit._

**121\. EXT. DARK HAVERFORD STREET – NIGHT**

_Silhouetted against the Moon, running parallel with a long, dark street, are a string of tall Electrical poles which hold up a lengthy stream of wires. The ambient buzzing of Electrical current can be heard whirling through the lines, along with a faintly discernible Native American whooping noise buried somewhere within the Electric hum._

_Down on the street below, traveling parallel to the Electrical wires, is the Mousy Girl. She is moving as quickly as her short, heeled legs can manage. Still upset from the harassing she received at the bar, she wipes the tears from her eyes, which are blackened from her runny mascara. As far as she is aware, she is alone out on the cold, dark street. At this late hour, there are no pedestrians, nor any cars passing by._

_The Mousy Girl looks up into the sky to see the full Moon beaming down at her. It is the lone source of illumination which lights her path. The only audible sound other than her clacking footsteps is the buzz of the Electrical poles, which gives her shivers for some reason. Off in the distance she is walking towards lie an urbanized network of dark alleyways._

_ Far behind her, the Shifty Man is walking along the same dark road. He rings his hands as he looks up at the power lines. The hum of the Electrical currents are telling him which way to go. He desperately pleads with himself, clearly facing some form of tortured inner conflict._

SHIFTY MAN:

No, no, no, no, no... No! No! Please, please, please don't make me do this... Please! I'm tired of this... I'm so, so tired... If I rip just this last time, will you promise to leave me alone? Do you promise? I'll do it if you promise me, okay?

**122\. EXT. DARK HAVERFORD ALLEYWAYS – NIGHT**

_The Mousy Girl has now entered a string of back alleys, intertwined in such a dizzying array and so indistinguishable from each other that they resemble a section of medieval catacombs. She appears to be just as alone in this mess of brick and mortar as she was back out on the empty road. She walks quickly, but quietly, listening carefully for any bumps in the night that may threaten her steady nerves._

**123\. EXT. DARK HAVERFORD STREET – NIGHT**

_Dale Cooper is hiking along the road beside the Electric poles at a brisk pace. He speaks quietly into his tape recorder as he walks._

DALE:

From the look of the woman I last saw Howard with, I have every reason to believe that "getting laid in the worst way" is exactly what he is in for. I am now on my way back to the campus alone, but at least disease free, which is something I suspect Howard will soon envy. For the last several blocks I have been shadowing a man who's actions I believe are criminal in intent. His movements have been those of a predator. At this point I do not believe he is aware of my presence, and will continue my surveillance until such a time that it appears unnecessary.

**124\. EXT. DARK HAVERFORD ALLEYWAYS – NIGHT**

_The Mousey Girl casts a nervous glance over both shoulders, checking for any creeping night stalkers, as she delves further and further into the dark, cavernous maze of back streets. A dark shape in her path gives her pause. In the middle of the cobblestone alley lies a trash can, which has been knocked over. Litter has spilled out onto the ground. As she carefully steps over the mess, a mangy black alley cat jumps out of the silver can and startles her with a loud hiss before it runs off into the night._

_After letting out a shriek, the frightened girl takes a moment to catch her breath, wiping away the sweat beading upon her forehead. Her palpitating heart-rate echoes as it pumps blood through her ears. Feeling alone and uneasy, the Mousy Girl scrounges around in her coat pocket for a sentimental trinket. Dangling from between her fingers is an old heart-shaped locket, it's coating in gold. With a click, she opens it up. Inside is a photograph of a little girl with her mother. The two women are beside a lake, and they portray nothing but unconditional __love__ for one another. The Mousy Girl smiles as she looks, longingly, at this old photograph, the cherished memento calming her down and soothing her soul. She clutches it close to her heart._

_A dirt-stained hand wraps around her mouth and pulls her into the nearby alleyway. The precious locket slips from her grasp and drops to the ground, sliding into a gutter and forever vanishing into the filthy sewers. The Shifty Man shakily wraps the Mousy Girl's mouth shut with duct tape and holds her in place against the brick wall. He is a shaking, muttering, nervous mess, trails of sweat pouring down his face. The growth on the side of his head is pulsing and throbbing. He berates her, hysterically, while he holds her against the wall._

SHIFTY MAN:

SHUT UP! Don't say a word! I-I-I don't want to do this, you understand... But he makes me! He's always in my head! And, he promises that if I let him rip you, he'll leave me alone! I need him out of my head! You understand, right? It's not me... IT'S NOT ME! IT WAS NEVER ME!

_The Shifty Man screams at the terrified girl, who is unable to scream back through her adhesive gag. Irrationally, the deranged assailant punches his defenseless captive in the face, smacking the back of her scalp against the bricks. He repeatedly beats her, again and again, in a barrage of uncoordinated assaults. The helpless girl closes her eyes, tightly, desperately wishing her ordeal would be over. Abruptly, his violent rage subsides. His panting slowing down, the Shifty Man smiles and enters a sudden calmness._

SHIFTY MAN:

Jack be nimble. Jack be quick. Jack jump over the candlestick.

_The growth on the side of his face squirts out a thick, white goo that fountains onto the cobblestones. The Mousy Girl clenches her eyes and turns her head away, unable to bare witnessing any more. We move away from the Shifty Man and close in on her terrified face as she squeezes her eyelids tightly, waiting for the next stage of her beating to commence. But, it doesn't happen. She can not feel the Shifty Man's touch, nor can she hear his breathing. It sounds as if there is no longer anyone out there. The Mousy Girl is frightened to open her eyes, but knows that she must. She unhinges her eyelids and faces forward._

_As we pan back to the same position, the Shifty Man is gone. But, in his place is KILLER JACK __**[David Suchet]**__. His skin is the color of chalk. His eyes are wide, empty, and soulless. His shark-like teeth are placed in an unwavering grin of perversion. He is dressed in an all-black suit and matching top hat. The Mousy Girl screams with all of her might at the blood-curdling menace which looms before her._

_Jack rips her shirt off, sending the buttons shooting to the ground. She pushes away with all of her might, but he does not even strain as he effortlessly constricts her movements. Killer Jack is an unstoppable force. He wields a large, razor-sharp kitchen knife and stabs her repeatedly in the chest. Blood pours down onto the cobblestone street, quickly filling in the cracks between the stones. As he continues to eviscerate her, his expression never changes. His empty, white eyes do not blink._

_As Jack gouges her gut and rips her torso open, he puts his left hand upon her forehead. The Mousy Girl's eyes roll back as he drains the __fear__ out of her. Once finished, Jack removes his grip from her lifeless body, which falls face-first to the ground._

_Out of his waistcoat, Jack exhumes a jar containing a dozen large, blue Beetles. They are an extraterrestrial species, nothing like anything that could be encountered in nature. There is a design on their shell, all in black, that resembles a crescent of Moon. Jack unscrews the cap and extracts one of the creatures with a pair of tongs. He leans down and carefully inserts the Beetle into the woman's ear. Once released, it promptly burrows it's way inside of her head._

_We cut to deep inside of the Mousy Girl's ear canal as the Beetle is squirming inwards. The skittering of the creature's little legs are amplified a thousandfold, and what would normally be a squeaking is now a deafening boom. Within the constricting flesh-colored tunnel, the blue Beetle digs further and further as it approaches a large, pink organ. Once It has arrived, it begins munching it's way into the center of her brain._

_After watching the Beetle disappear inside of the Mousey Girl's body, we pan up to the man standing above her. It is no longer Killer Jack, but instead, it is the Shifty Man. He shakes from trauma as he notices his own blood-covered hands. Appearing as shocked as any bystander would be by the grisly spectacle at his feet, he turns tail and runs off into the night._

**125\. EXT. DARK HAVERFORD STREET – NIGHT**

_Dale Cooper is cautiously treading down the dark road, searching for any sign of either bar patron whom he'd been tracking. As he encroaches upon the maze of urban alleyway, he notices the Shifty Man retreating hastily through an alcove in the darkness. Dale silently pursues._

**126\. EXT. DARK HAVERFORD ALLEYWAYS – NIGHT**

_Dale continues to cautiously stalk the Shifty Man. Both shadowy night travelers make their way down several roads and alleys. Dale lags behind for only a moment, then turns a corner and sees a multitude of different paths spread before him. Unsure of which way his quarry went, Dale picks a path at random. He realizes very quickly that it is the wrong one._

DALE:

Dammit! Dammit, I've lost him!

_Dale turns back towards the crossroads he lost the Shifty Man at, but is now unsure even of which way he came from. He picks a route at random once more and walks down it._

_Dale comes across a trash can that has been knocked over. Being the good Samaritan that he is, he lifts the bin upright and returns some of the rubbish back inside. As he does so, he notices the stream of blood flowing through the cracks in between the cobblestones. Dale follows the stream around the corner until he comes across the butchered corpse. Dreading the confirmation of his suspicions, he turns her over and instantly recognizes her as the Mousy Girl. The once shy and timid face is now forever frozen in __fear__, her pale skin streaked with splatters of thick, red blood._

DALE:

Oh, God... Oh, dear God... No, no, no...

_Dale falls first to his knees, then sprawls flatly to the dirty street, resting his head upon her body. Filled with despair and failure, he openly weeps. Over Dale's shoulder, concealed in a darkened alcove, Killer Jack watches him from afar. His wide-eyed grin does not change as he carefully absorbs Dale's every moment of grief. His heavy breathing echos out through the alleyway, and Dale can almost hear it._

_Sensing that he is not alone, Dale lifts up his head and looks back and forth. Behind him, Jack slowly unsheathes his knife and contemplates eviscerating Dale now that he has the chance. Dale catches the sound of the knife's blade rubbing against the fabric of Jack's waistcoat and quickly looks behind him, but there is nothing to behold but blackness._

_A hooting startles his attention to his left. Perched high up in a windowsill is a Giant Horned Owl. The Owl looks him over, sizing him up in it's beady little eyes, and then flies away, gliding along a cool night breeze. Dale's attention is then drawn up to the telephone wires, where he can hear the buzz of Electrical current magnify into an overwhelming roar. All of these varied elements combine, filling Dale with the intuition that he is surrounded by enemies. He realizes that his actions are in the sights of some very dangerous forces._

_A cold wind picks up that blows the litter from the trash can across the alleyway. Strands of the Mousy Girl's hair blow over her face, bits of dirt adhering to them due to the sticky blood. Dale can't take his eyes off of her, and cannot fight the darkness consuming his heart..._

**127\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, DALE'S SUITE – NIGHT**

_Dale's room is dark, the lights doused, and the windows latched tight. He lays upon his bed, staring upwards at the ceiling. After a few moments of silence, he reaches out for his tape recorder._

DALE:

Have not slept all night. The face of the woman lying in a pool of blood will not let me. The possibility that I may remember something of use to the authorities forces me to reexamine the scene as closely as I can remember it, though I do this with great reluctance. At approximately eleven-thirty, I lost sight of the man who I had been following. For the next fifteen minutes I continued in what I could best determine to be the direction the figure had taken. I searched several alleys and traversed a number of streets to no avail. At what I can only estimate to be eleven forty-five I gave up and proceeded home. It was within two minutes of that time that I came across the body of the victim. She was lying face down, her clothes partially removed, multiple stab wounds visible over much of her torso. Her face had been badly beaten. What I felt at that time I now realize was more than terror or shock. I firmly believe the killer was within striking distance of myself, and could easily have claimed me as his second victim. This is not intuition. The presence of the killer was as real as the shaking in my hand at this moment. I do not understand the dark forces that result in so much brutality. But I now know that it is a real thing. And it is out there at this very moment. I must find someone who can hep me understand and fight this. But who? I began the evening last night looking for the companionship and warmth that so often seems to elude me. I have now slipped even further into that lonely place I was trying to escape from...

_Dale reluctantly pushes the button to halt recording, lowers his hand, and continues staring up at the ceiling._

**128\. EXT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, COURTYARD – DAY**

_The weather is heavy and thick in the humid climate of the Caribbean. The sky is a deep, perfect blue without a single cloud to corrupt it's vacant peace. In the dusty dirt courtyard of la Casa el Corazon, miniature cyclones swirl across the ground. Though the walls of the hotel were once a crisp white, years of neglect have forever tarnished them with a tired coat of brown. A scratchy, broken-down record player is playing "Monkey Man" by the Maytals._

_Sitting crisscrossed upon an Oak barrel of spiced rum is Windom Earle. Despite the exhaustively clement weather, Windom still wears a black and white suit, although his jacket has been removed and his sleeves rolled up. Before him is a gaming table of some sort, although it is little more than a splintery plank balanced atop a crate._

_Across from Windom is the ELECTRICIAN __**[Calvin Lockheart]**__. He is an aged Black man with a face revealing years and a mind retaining wisdom. His simple outfit of loose fitting rags have evidently clothed him for many decades, and a withered walking cane rests at his side. When he speaks through his thick Dominican accent, it is with precision and sincerity. His eyes are closed tightly and his mind is engaged in a state of meditation._

_Crudely carved onto the surface of the table between them is a Chessboard, already mid-game. The hand-crafted Chess pieces resemble ritualistic tribal fetish dolls. Windom plays the white side, while the Electrician's miniature army are black. Windom moves his hand towards one of his Knights. Without even opening his eyes, the Electrician smacks Windom's hand aside with his stick._

ELECTRICIAN:

Never proceed forward unless you know where the path leads. If you can't see your destination through the fog ahead, it is best to stay put until the weather has cleared.

_Windom attempts to explain the reasoning of his intended move._

WINDOM:

I assure you, I was thinking ahead. If I have you blocked in with both of my Knights, then I can get you into Checkmate within six more moves.

ELECTRICIAN:

But, that would lose you a Rook, would it not?

_Windom breathes slowly to reduce his frustration and heeds his mentor's advice._

ELECTRICIAN:

Any blind fool can triumph in battle by swinging his stick and hoping that his army breaks the most skulls. But only a master can win a war without being crippled. This is how you maintain your strength for the next game.

_Windom scratches his chin and reconsiders his move. Attempting another try, he instead moves a pawn._

ELECTRICIAN:

Si. Many pawns will have to be sacrificed. It is regrettable, but sadly, that is their function. It is for this reason that we must show our pawns respect. For, without them, we are nothing.

_The Electrician moves his shaky hand to the board and advances a pawn of his own. Windom reflects bitterly on his recent past..._

WINDOM:

I was a pawn, once... used in equal measure by two conflicting sides in a struggle for power... And once I had outlived my usefulness, I was cast aside by all concerned parties and forgotten...

ELECTRICIAN:

Being forgotten by one's enemies is the most advantageous position a master player could ever find himself in.

_Windom nods in agreement, but still finds it difficult to forget his past scars._

WINDOM:

I was so close... I was right there... When I close my eyes, I can still see that Hooded Figure standing on the hill...

_The Electrician leans back on his barrel, his turn to sift through old memories..._

ELECTRICIAN:

I have been close, as well... I have seen things which would haunt your night time visions for the rest of your days. And yet, here I sit, never once crossed to the other side. And, I should be thankful for this. Throughout history, many have been close. Many have seen things. And no one sings songs of their success.

_Windom remains introspective for a moment before moving his Bishop forward._

WINDOM:

Why is one person chosen over another? Under what criteria do they choose carriers?

_The Electrician gleams with pride over his student. The record player scratchily transitions to it's next track, "007 (Shanty Town)" by Desmond Dekker &amp; the Aces._

ELECTRICIAN:

You have just asked the right question, Windom. You are a very wise young man, I can see this. There _is_ a criteria under which carriers are chosen, this is true. The reason for this is because only a special kind of soul has a chance of surviving the trip to the other side, you see? They must possess two things.

WINDOM:

What things? Please, you must tell me.

_The Electrician cackles at Windom's desperation._

ELECTRICIAN:

You want to see if you have what it takes to be chosen?

WINDOM:

Yes, I do.

ELECTRICIAN:

If you are to be chosen... they will let you know. Make no mistake of that.

_The Electrician slides his Queen clear across the board._

ELECTRICIAN:

Checkmate.

_Windom stares at the board, aghast. His jaw hangs open in disbelief. Hardly any pieces have been removed from either side, and they have only been playing a short while, yet he has already been defeated._

WINDOM:

Astounding. You truly are the legendary Master I'd been led to believe. I've no chance of beating you.

ELECTRICIAN:

The purpose of studying with a Master is not to defeat him. It is to learn how to defeat others... There is a pecking order to this world, and you can only hope to triumph over those who fall below you. A Master can never be beaten... except by the Master that taught him.

_The Electrician pounds his cane against the crate as he barks out impatient commands._

ELECTRICIAN:

Now, pick up your pieces! We go again!

_Windom humbly obliges, organizing the board while the old man closes his eyes and basks in the Sunlight. While working, Windom presses further with his inquiries._

WINDOM:

What are the two attributes needed to be chosen?

_The Electrician laughs once more, opening his eyes and abandoning his planned moment of rest to indulge his student with the information he so desires._

ELECTRICIAN:

I can tell that you are the kind of person that will never give up on your goal. This is an admirable trait. Very well, I will tell you. In order to be chosen by the spirits and pass through the doors of the Lodge, you must possess two things.

_The old man gestures by pointing two fingers into the air. Windom leans forward, intent on absorbing every detail that is about to be disclosed._

ELECTRICIAN:

The first thing is perfect courage. If you do not have this within you, then your soul will surely be destroyed. The second thing is a pure heart. Absolute purity. This is what spirits covet in humans, because it is what gives them their power.

WINDOM:

A pure heart? As in, someone who practices kindness, charity and generosity?

_The Electrician shakes his head._

ELECTRICIAN:

You misunderstand me entirely, Windom. Purity of the heart goes both ways. These beings care not for right or wrong. They care only for power. Good and evil have equal value in the Waiting Room.

WINDOM:

"The Waiting Room"...

_Windom emphasizes this new concept with reverence, his imagination going wild. The record reaches the end of it's last track and the needle goes bare._

ELECTRICIAN:

Goodness is like a garden, where there must already be fertile soil for the maturation to begin. But, evil is like a fire that has to spread, destroying what was once there before. To have perfect courage when you begin with a garden is easier than having perfect courage when you begin with kindling.

WINDOM:

So, it's easier to pass through the Waiting Room if you are purely good than if you are purely evil?

ELECTRICIAN:

Possibly. But most people with such purity of goodness in their souls do not lust after such power. Consequently, those who attempt to claim such power using dark forces often discover that they possess only a lukewarm presence of evil in their hearts. As a reward for their troubles, they are crushed with devastating consequences.

_Windom processes this information, relating it to himself._

WINDOM:

I could never be evil... I just don't have that kind of darkness within me. But, neither am I a perfectly good human being, so... What chance do I have?

ELECTRICIAN:

The key to success in life is balance. Balance lies in all things. It's _all_ about balance.

_The Electrician leans forward. He whispers slowly and delivers a cautionary warning with stressed gravity._

ELECTRICIAN:

Listen to me well, Windom, and heed my words. There are things in this world... and in the worlds beyond... that were not meant to be seen by the likes of us. And, we are better off for it. To reach the unreachable you must be willing to sacrifice everything. You must be willing to sell your soul to the Devil, himself. To enter Hell and never return. Can you offer this?

_Windom's gaze goes distant and his voice loses confidence._

WINDOM:

There was a time when, maybe, I could have... But, that time has passed... I –

_Windom is cut short by CAROLINE EARLE __**[Brenda E. Mathers]**__, his newlywed wife, who enters the courtyard from behind him. She is a gentle, optimistic woman with luscious cheekbones and soft, amber hair. She approaches the two men wearing a form-fitting bathing suit and a shimmering smile on her lips. Her body and hair are still wet from swimming._

CAROLINE:

Windom... are you ever going to come join me by the waterside? Or are you consigned to sitting in the dirt and playing Chess all day?

_Although Caroline speaks in jest, she nonetheless treats her husband's diverting pastime with respect. She bends down and kisses him on the lips, drops of fresh seawater dampening his dress shirt. Windom's uncertainty and melancholia instantly vanish and all thoughts of extraterrestrial spirits disappear as Caroline's contagious smile spreads to his own face. She playfully addresses the old man in their presence._

CAROLINE:

Is my husband giving you a challenge?

_The Electrician just laughs in response._

WINDOM:

No, but at least I'm providing him with hours of amusement. The score, so far, is thirty-six to nil. My friend, here, is a true Grand Master, if there ever was one.

CAROLINE:

Well, _Señor_ Grand Master, would you excuse us while we take a brief stroll along the beach? I promise I'll return him, but my husband still owes me something from our wedding night...

_The Electrician smiles like a child and nods his head. Windom stands up as Caroline drags him away by his neck tie._

**129\. EXT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, BEACH – DAY**

_Windom and Caroline walk hand in hand along a beautiful, empty beach, which stretches for miles beside the coastline of the warm Equatorial Ocean. A trail of footprints follow them in the sand and seagulls look down upon them from the sky._

CAROLINE:

You two certainly haven't run out of anything to say after all of these days...

WINDOM:

Wisdom befalls those who are willing to listen.

CAROLINE:

I think it's wonderful of you to pay him so much attention. He probably doesn't get much company these days.

WINDOM:

Now... what's all this about I owing you something? I hope you're not planning to seduce me into sex on the beach, are you? We have a room just upstairs... I believe Haiti has a law against public copulation. Besides, I hate sand in my ears.

_The two stop and gaze out at the sea, together. Smaller islands are visible off against the distant horizon. Caroline plucks up the courage to voice her desires, regardless of how foolish they may sound._

CAROLINE:

It's been seven days since our wedding. We leave for America tomorrow. You made me a promise.

_Windom shifts and stutters, this conversation clearly making him very uncomfortable._

WINDOM:

Caroline... Please... You know this makes me...

CAROLINE:

I accepted that you couldn't do it in front of my parents. I understand that you don't want to be watched. But, there's no one here. It's only the two of us.

_Windom searches for an excuse._

WINDOM:

… But, there's no music.

_Caroline turns to face him._

CAROLINE:

All we need... All we will ever need... is the music in our heads.

_Windom is confronted with the mesmerizing blue eyes of the one person in the world he truly __love__s. He concedes to move beyond his insecurity and do whatever it takes to make her happy._

CAROLINE:

Please, Windom. Dance with me.

_Windom forfeits his dominance over his own body and allows Caroline to manipulate his hands as she sees fit. She gently places one of his hands upon her waist and the other one on her shoulder. She softly hums the song that plays inside of her head._

_With not a soul watching them, other than the seagulls riding the air currents overhead, the two __love__rs dance a slow waltz together in the sand. Windom's movements are awkward and without rhythm, but this matters not to Caroline. The effort itself is enough. As the two share in this intimate embrace, their bodies are peppered by the salty ocean breeze..._

**130\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, DALE'S SUITE – NIGHT**

_It is the middle of the night and Dale is struggling to sleep, the sanctity of his mind still invaded by morbid reflections of his gruesome discovery. He pants rapidly as he shifts and spasms, his bedsheets tangled around his body. His temperature has risen from a fever which rushes through his system, and sweat drenches his bedspread. With a shout, Dale sits up in bed, something within causing him to awaken. He rubs his eyes and peers through the darkness of his unlit bedroom._

_Dale screams in terror when he notices Marie sitting on the edge of his bed. She looks as young as she was at the lake, but her skin is chalk white and her eyes eerily empty. She opens her lips, and liters of thick, black oil pour out of her mouth and streak down her face. Through thestream of regurgitated petroleum she mouths the word "stop". Dale pulls the covers off of his body and crawls towards her, reaching to put his hands on her shoulders._

DALE:

Help me, Marie! Please, help me!

_Marie shakes her head "no" and her entire body erupts into a tower of fire. Dale jumps out of bed and into the corner of his room. The tower of flames remains for a few moments and then disappears into nothing, leaving no burn marks behind. The room is hot, but otherwise devoid of any evidence of the encounter. Dale panics, unable to comprehend another strange vision. As his body heats up, he faints and falls to the floor, hitting his head on his desk with a weighty 'thwack'._

**131\. INT. HAVERFORD UNIVERSITY, SCHOOL INFIRMARY – DAY**

_Dale awakens to find himself laying in a hospital bed. He opens his eyes, and through blurry focus it looks as though Florence Cooper is standing above him, rubbing her hand on his forehead._

DALE:

Mom? Mom, is that you?

_Dale's vision refocuses, and he realizes that is is just a very __love__ly HAVERFORD NURSE that vaguely resembles his mother. She smiles at the confusion._

NURSE:

Well, no, I'm not your mother, Dale. But, it is my job to take care of you and nurse you back to health. So, you can call me "mom" if it helps make you feel better.

_Dale laughs as he rubs his eyes._

DALE:

Where am I?

NURSE:

The school infirmary. You had a horrible fever. Your friend Howard found you lying on the floor of your dorm room, screaming. You've been unconscious for two days.

DALE:

Good heavens... What kind of virus did I have?

NURSE:

Nothing out of the ordinary. You just need to rest, that's all. How do you feel?

DALE:

Tired... So tired... I just want to sleep...

NURSE:

Then sleep it is, Dale. You just let me know if I can get you anything.

_Dale is already asleep once more._

**132\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, DALE'S SUITE – DAY**

_The key turns in the door and Dale Cooper enters his suite. He appears refreshed and in renewed spirits. His first move upon entry is to lift the blinds, allowing welcome light to come flooding into the room. He then opens the window and inhales a hearty breath of fresh air, savoring it's aroma. Lastly, he grabs his tape recorder and turns it on._

DALE:

I am back in my room. If it is true that dreams are the window into the subconscious, then I fear mine is a troubled place. While judgment is certainly questionable when suffering from a 103-degree fever, I nonetheless find myself believing that it was not merely infection that attacked my body, but somehow the evil that took the life of that young woman and was in striking distance of taking mine. Does this evil exist in as tangible a form as, say, a germ? Does it float as a feather would on the currents of air that bring life to this world; moving in and out of all our lives, and occasionally taking root on unfortunate souls? If that is true, then the battle that took place within my body was not viral in nature, but a struggle for my very soul. This time I trust I won. A note on healing: During the moments that I was cognizant enough to take in my surroundings, I found that the color of white worn by nurses seemed to stimulate a constant erection on all male patients on my floor. My penis was no exception, as it seemed to react without any assistance from parts of my body above the waist. The nurses seemed to take this in stride and treated it very much like they would a radio antenna sending out signals of healing.

_With a smile, Cooper halts recording on his tape with a springy release of his thumb. Glancing down, he notices his blanket and pillow are still laying on the floor. He leans over to pick them up and proceeds to straighten his bed back together... until something on the carpet catches his attention._

_Dale leans down to examine a spot on the floor. Just under the corner of his bed where Marie appeared to him in his dream, he sees what looks like a faint black oil stain. He feels it with his hands, testing if any of the dampness will rub off onto his fingers. He raises his tape recorder to his mouth and almost presses the button to report his findings... but he finally decides not to and dismisses the stain as some manner of coincidence._

**133\. EXT. HAVERFORD CIVIC CENTER – DAY**

CAPTION:

Haverford Civic Center

December 17th, 1980

_Snow blankets the ground, unable to melt in the freezing climate which marks the beginning of the long Pennsylvanian Winter. Pedestrians, businessmen and college students stream in and out of the bustling civic center. The parking spaces and roads have been cleared, with large mounds of shoveled snow adjacent to liberated areas of pavement. A banner is strung above the front entryway, which announces "_JOB FAIR TODAY_"._

_A community bus pulls up to the front of the center, it's hydraulics hissing loudly as it comes to a stop. Among the commuters hurriedly exiting through the rear door of the transit vehicle are Dale Cooper and Howard Teller. Both students are wrapped up in multiple layers of jackets, scarfs, and gloves. Their breath emits as a thick cloud with every word and quickly dissipates into the air. Dale has an anticipatory smile on his face as he looks over the building. Howard also looks eager, but a little wigged out and twitchy. He is suffering from a visible outbreak of cold sores on the outside of his mouth._

DALE:

Here we are, my friend. It's time to find some direction in this winding, diversionary life in which we lead. I don't expect any answers to be behind these doors, but perhaps with some luck, I can find a compass that will point me back towards the path I had intended to already be traveling upon.

HOWARD:

Dale... don't spaz out on me... but I have no idea what you're talking about, bro...

DALE:

Why not?

HOWARD:

The jury is still out on this... but it may be that acid I dropped before we left.

DALE:

Howard!

HOWARD:

Look, just point me in the direction of an Electronics firm and everything will be fine, right?

_Dale rolls his eyes, and the two young men march up the stone steps to the front doors._

**134\. INT. HAVERFORD CIVIC CENTER – DAY**

_Hundreds of people are gathered within the spacious convention center. Dozens of booths occupy the hall floor, arranged in rows. Each booth exhibits a display presentation advertising it's profession or field, accompanied by one or more representatives willing to answer any questions for interested passersby._

_The booth Howard stands in front of has two radar screens positioned up above eye level, which glow a hypnotic red. He giggles stupidly as he watches the screens, mesmerized by both the color and the wiring. The two MARINES who run the booth, unmistakably dressed as servicemen, approach Howard._

MARINE 1:

I see that you're interested in radar?

HOWARD:

It's just like Pong, man. I love it.

MARINE 2:

And, do you love your country, son?

HOWARD:

Hell yeah, I do. America rocks.

MARINE 1:

Any interest working in a field with radar? We have a special offer right now for someone just like you.

HOWARD:

Would it be premature to say "sign me up"?

_The two Marines exchange devilish glances and pull out a clipboard, paper and pen. Meanwhile, Dale is perusing another end of the job fair. Currently, his interest is piqued by a pharmaceutical booth. The white-coated doctor is currently speaking with a student. Dale patiently queues behind, waiting for his turn. The colors of the pills look appealing to him, and he considers asking for a brochure._

_But next door, a far more striking booth steals his attention. The banner at it's top exclaims: "_YOU COULD BE JUST WHAT THE FBI NEEDS!_" The back wall of the booth is decorated with a collage of pictures depicting proud men wearing their badges and busting up gang activity. The romance, bravado, and heroism portrayed in the pictures and décor send Coop into a child-like wonder. Another student is shaking hands with the booth's attendee, who is none other than Windom Earle, dressed in the black suit and tie of a Federal Agent. As the young man leaves, Windom takes notice of Dale's large smile and wide-eyes. He calls to him, warmly._

WINDOM:

Hello, there, young man.

_Previously lost in the attractive world conveyed by the propaganda lining the walls, Dale turns towards Windom with a "who, me?" look._

WINDOM:

Enjoying the fair?

DALE:

I certainly am.

WINDOM:

What's your name?

DALE:

Dale Cooper, sir.

_The two men shake hands for the first time._

WINDOM:

Special Agent Windom Earl. Have you ever given any thought to the exciting life of a Special Agent? This country's most honorable form of defense, truly serving the people and keeping civilian society safe from America's dangerous underbelly.

_Dale bashfully admits to his prior interests._

DALE:

As a matter of fact... I wanted to be an Agent when I was a child.

WINDOM:

Is that so?

DALE:

Yes. I wrote Mr. Hoover a letter, and he invited me and my parents to meet him at the FBI Offices in Washington.

WINDOM:

Really? Your letter must have made quite an impact. I knew J. Edgar, personally. We worked together on a very special pet project of his that sadly fell apart after his passing. How old were you when you met him?

DALE:

Fourteen, sir.

WINDOM:

Extraordinary. And, what have you been doing since then?

DALE:

Well, I went on a tour of the East and parts Southern for several years. As of now, I've been studying at Harverford for the last three and –

_Windom cuts Dale off._

WINDOM:

I meant what have you done to further your goal of becoming an Agent?

_Ashamedly, Dale confesses the truth._

DALE:

To be honest, I haven't really pursued it since high school.

WINDOM:

I see. What are you studying now, then?

_Dale sighs as he fails to come up with a worthwhile response._

DALE:

I'm not entirely sure. A little of this, and a little of that. I'm trying to round out my education as fully as possible. I figure this way, I'll ensure that the maximum career prospects will be available to me.

_ Windom nods his head, clearly unsold by Dale's attempts at confidence._

WINDOM:

Uh-huh. I hear "this" and "that" really pay off as fields of study.

_Dale looks down at the floor, unsure of how to respond. Windom responds for him._

WINDOM:

As you got older and wiser, the FBI seemed more and more like an unachievable fancy, didn't it? The squandered dreams of youth... Am I right?

_Dale reluctantly nods._

DALE:

Partly... yes.

WINDOM:

Let me tell you something. Being an Agent of the Federal Bureau is a real job. It's not merely some Hollywood superhuman fantasy. We're all real people that applied, studied, and graduated, many of us with far less of a head start than being invited to see Mr. Hoover at age fourteen, I might add. If you want to become a Special Agent, then become a Special Agent. I can already tell you've got the makings for it.

DALE:

Why do you say that?

_Windom smiles knowingly as he looks Dale up and down._

WINDOM:

You were in the Boy Scouts, weren't you?

DALE:

I was an Eagle Scout.

WINDOM:

When you saw Bonnie &amp; Clyde at the cinema, did you root for the G-Men?

DALE:

Yes! You should have seen the looks I got from the people behind me.

WINDOM:

So, why are you wasting time studying "this" and "that" at Harverford?

_Dale struggles with his response._

DALE:

My... perspectives have changed with time. Perhaps... not for the better.

WINDOM:

How so?

_Dale, evidently taking this stranger's words to heart, takes this opportune moment to vent some of the deep-seeded pangs of doubt that he has buried within himself for years, sharing with no one, save his tape recorder._

DALE:

You know... There was a time when I believed so ardently in the victory of right over wrong. As a child, I never once questioned the ability of goodness to crush the opposing forces of evil during any diachronic conflagration. But as I grew up, I had some people close to me... taken. And, I've seen some things that have made me question the validity of those viewpoints. The more I try to believe in goodness, the more I am forced to realize that the presence of pure evil has enough power to trump any opposition. I am unable to comprehend this... evil force that I feel that exists in the world, Mr. Earl.

WINDOM:

Dale... May I call you Dale?

DALE:

Of course.

WINDOM:

If you'll permit me, Dale, I would like to give you the best advice that I can. I want you to reflect on yourself objectively for a moment, and really ask... are you devoting all of this time and energy towards understanding the nature of evil intellectually as a substitution for confronting it head-on?

_Dale considers his feelings, recognizing that Windom is right. He is unable to find words._

WINDOM:

Evil _will_ defeat goodness so long as you stay locked up in your dormitory contemplating it. Join the FBI, Dale. Yes, there is evil that runs rampant and devastates lives. And, it's up to us to stop it.

_Windom hands a thick folder to Dale, surely something he does not give to all attendees._

WINDOM:

I mean it now, Dale. I expect to be working alongside you some day.

DALE:

That's precisely what Mr. Hoover told me...

_Windom extends a hand and firmly shakes with Dale, looking him dead in the eyes._

WINDOM:

This is where you belong. Become a Special Agent. Live up to your potential.

**135\. INT. DRINKER HOUSE, DALE'S SUITE – DAY**

_Dale is laying in bed on his stomach, feet bobbing up in the air behind him. He is reviewing the contents of the folder given to him by Windom, which contains informative pamphlets, exciting pictures and detailed information related to the Bureau. Dale undergoes a clear reaffirmation of drive and a surge of nostalgic optimism which he's not felt in many years. He is almost reliving the feeling he'd had the day he first read that letter from Mr. Hoover. As he is meticulously filling in his personal information onto a registration card, he pauses to look up at the ceiling and whispers..._

DALE:

Special Agent Dale Cooper...

_There is a knock at the door. Dale gets out of bed and answers. It is Howard, looking pale and nauseous. In his hands is a brown paper bag._

DALE:

Howard?

HOWARD:

Oh, God... I think I joined the army...

_Howard vomits into his paper bag._

**136\. EXT. COOPER HOUSE – DAY**

_It is Christmas Eve. Snow covers the ground outside Dale's childhood home, and a lone string of multicolored Christmas lights border the front windows._

**137\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale and his father sit across from each other on the two sofas. A Christmas motif for the room has been attempted, but it's execution has turned out very mediocre. The entirety of decorations consist of a couple stray cardboard banners and a pitiful tinsel tree set next to the record player, which plays a medley of Christmas standards._

_Donald Cooper wears an ancient Christmas sweater, excavated from the bowls of the moth-infested storage space, and his gelled hair is especially messy and unkempt. Both Cooper men slam tall glasses of a thick, creamy liquid, exclaiming merrily once the glasses have been emptied._

DALE:

Damn fine eggnog, father! Damn fine!

DONALD:

Here's to another Christmas Eve that we've both survived to see! What a year it's been, huh? What a year...

_Both men nod their heads in awkward silence. They find it a difficult task to extend their dialogue beyond small talk. It is clear that, while still fond for one another, the two remaining Coopers have grown distant over their years apart. Dale breathes deeply as he prepares to unveil his future plans, feeling unexpectedly anxious._

DALE:

Well, father, I suppose now is as good a time as any to bring this up. I have decided, as of two weeks ago, that I am going to seriously pursue what, upon self-reflection, has always been my one true ambition. As soon as I am of age, I will take the tests necessary to be accepted as a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

DONALD:

Really? Hey, that's great, son. I know that's what you talked about constantly when you were younger. And, if you really think that's the place for you... then I support you one-hundred percent.

DALE:

Thank you. You've always been there for me, throughout my life, and you know I've always appreciated that.

DONALD:

It was all that Efrem Zimbalist I let you watch, wasn't it?

_Dale smirks, unable to deny Efrem's contributions to his ambitions._

DONALD:

I knew it! Let's have a toast to you and your future success, eh? Join me in another bottle of champagne?

_Donald crosses the room to fetch another bottle of the sweet, bubbly liquor. He uncorks the bottle, pours them both drinks, and leads a toast._

DONALD:

To my son, the Special Agent!

_Both glasses clink together, and they drink. Dale notices with some concern that Donald downs his entire glass in one gulp and then promptly pours another as he returns to the sofa._

DONALD:

I think that it's so important for you to find a career in which you can support yourself, you know? So important... So important...

_Throughout the conversation, Donald has been distracted, his head lost in far away troubles. He continues nodding as he stares down at the rug._

DONALD:

I'm bankrupt, Dale.

DALE:

… What?

DONALD:

Yeah. I'm out. The creditors say I have to choose between losing the print shop, or... or the house.

DALE:

You can't be serious.

DONALD:

I'm dead serious, Dale. This is it for me.

_He finishes his glass, and then pours himself yet another, rounding out the bottle. Dale finds difficulty swallowing._

DONALD:

I've been thinking over other options, though. Look, I'm a wizard with that printer. I could always... you know... print out a few extra bucks just to get me back on my –

DALE:

Unacceptable, father! I've just told you that I'm going to become a Federal Agent and you speak to me of counterfeiting... a Federal crime!

DONALD:

Of course not... of course not... I would never. It was just a thought. I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

_Donald finishes the final glass, and examines his empty bottle._

DONALD:

Then, it's got to be the house. I need to print, son. Moon real-estate is dead, and... I don't know anything else except printing.

_Dale is mortified. He finishes his glass and looks at the floor._

DONALD:

There's a small apartment above the shop... I can move in there for the time being. Why don't you go through your room and collect the things you want to keep, and then decide what will be let go?

_Dale is pained by this news. The thrill of telling his father about his rekindled ambition has now been thoroughly dissolved._

**138\. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM - DAY**

_The bedroom of Dale's childhood is barren. Dale's possessions which made the cut to be salvaged are piled upon the bed. Dale speaks into his tape recorder as he inventories his collection._

DALE:

Have made the following decisions on the disposition of my worldly goods. Will keep the following: Hammer-screwdriver set, picture and letter from J. Edgar Hoover, picture of Efrem Zimbalist, poster of Jimmy Stewart, a pack, folding knife, boots, several small round rocks, picture of Mom and Dad, Scout manual, waterproof matches, baseball card of Duke Snyder, compass, milk bottle, duct tape, my suits, various articles of clothing for changing weather conditions, world map, copy of "Moby Dick", small photo of Marie, and a warm hat. Don't think I've left anything out. These items should pretty well cover any contingencies I may encounter in the future, both emotional and physical.

_Dale clicks off his tape recorder. Before he sets to packing, he double checks the room once more, straining to see if there's anything essential which he's forgotten. He freezes once his eyes pass over his cabinet drawer._

_A deep, ambient rumbling fills his ears as Dale thinks back to childhood memories, long since repressed. He feels himself inescapably drawn to the cabinet, slowly reaching for the drawer handle. It is locked. Dale searches the bed for the small key, almost wishing he wouldn't find it. Laying next to the photo of Marie, he sees it. He uses it to unlock the drawer with a trembling hand._

_Inside, Dale sees a single item resting in a bed of dust and cobweb. It is the simple Golden Ring that his deceased mother handed to him in a dream. He takes the accessory in his shaking hand and holds it up to the light. In an extreme close-up, we see the reflection of light glistening off of it's curved surface. Dale Cooper puts his mother's ring upon his pinky finger and vows to never again remove it._

**139\. EXT. FBI HEADQUARTERS, PHILADELPHIA – DAY**

CAPTION:

FBI Headquarters, Philadelphia

June 20th, 1981

_We begin on the Liberty Bell, hung in it's wooden housing, and pan down to it's shadow. The silhouette is as split as the cracked form from which it is cast. Sharing the same city as the National Monument are the Philadelphia Offices of the FBI. The impressive installation is heavily secured. People pass by, some of whom are wearing the black suit and tie of a Federal Agent._

**140\. INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS, PHILADELPHIA – DAY**

_Dale is sitting at a table across from two FBI INTERVIEWERS in a cramped interrogation room. Both men, dressed stiffly in matching black and white, are identically nondescript, stern, and humorless. The taller of the two asks monotone questions while the other takes diligent notes on his clipboard, never breaking to look up. This atmosphere is tense, but Dale speaks with an undeterred confidence._

INTERVIEWER:

So, Mr. Cooper... What makes you want to join the FBI?

DALE:

I believe that evil exists in this world as a tangible entity, and I want to do everything in my power to eradicate it. Furthermore, I have long had an unreserved respect for people in the field, and would like very much to join the ranks of the noble brethren whom I have long admired.

INTERVIEWER:

And, what abilities can you bring to our "brethren" that would make you a valuable commodity?

DALE:

I possess keen observational skills, a strong sense of intuition, a steadfast belief in the righteousness of good, and expert marksmanship. I scored a perfect 100 when I was an Eagle Scout.

_Both men let out an "oooh", and the interviewer quickly whispers to the note-taker..._

INTERVIEWER:

Put down "Eagle Scout"...

_The interviewer turns back to Dale._

INTERVIEWER:

What experiences in your life most influenced you towards wanting to become a Federal Agent?

DALE:

Well, actually... I met J. Edgar Hoover when I was fourteen, and he suggested that I join up. I brought along a photograph, if you'd care to see it.

_Dale hands the photo of him posing with J. Edgar over to the two men, who are unable to mask their glee. The note-taker drops his clipboard. Dale folds his arms as if he "has this in the bag"._

**141\. EXT. FBI ACADEMY – DAY**

CAPTION:

Quantico, Virginia

September 1st, 1981

_A marble sign posted at the front of the campus has "_FBI ACADEMY, QUANTICO VA._" scribed into it on a contrasting white-on-black. The simple tan buildings are nestled in a trove of Autumn red, orange and yellow leafs. Neighboring the facilities to the left is the mock village known as "Hogan's Alley", used for training exercises. At the moment, the grounds are seemingly deserted, since the entire academic population and staff are convened inside the Great Hall._

**142\. INT. FBI ACADEMY, GREAT HALL – DAY**

_The spacious auditorium is currently filled to capacity with the Fall quarter's entire student body. Faculty are dispersed throughout the room, and inspirational plaques and paintings adorn the high walls. Fifty students are standing at their chairs, each dressed in the conservative black suit and tie of an Agent. Their right hands are raised as they join one another in the official oath._

DALE:

I, Dale Cooper, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.

_As Dale speaks his oath, he is distracted momentarily to his left, where a beautiful woman with blonde hair is also taking part. Quickly realizing his loss of focus, Dale looks back towards the American flag ahead and resolves to deepen his concentration._

_ A portly ACADEMY SPEAKER with wrinkled skin and saggy jowls stands up at the front of the hall at a lectern. He congratulates the students with a jolly chortle. Though Dale does his best to pay attention, he keeps sneaking glances towards the beautiful blonde woman whom he can only partially see._

ACADEMY SPEAKER:

Congratulations, everyone, for being accepted into the Federal Bureau of Investigation Academy. We will repeat these oaths once more at the end of your training, but you must keep them true in your heart and abide by them at all times with the utmost integrity. For the next fourteen weeks, this campus will be your home, and you will be thoroughly trained in every aspect necessary to become an effective Agent. Devote yourselves, be ever vigilant, and you will do yourselves, and your country, proud.

_The students all cheer with vigor. The faculty indicates that the assembly is over, and the students scatter to go find their dorms. Dale follows the blonde woman once more with his eyes until she is lost in the crowd..._

**143\. INT. FBI ACADEMY, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale clumsily struggles with his keys to unlock the door to his room. Both of his arms are wrapped around a tall stack of luggage, nearly twice his height. After the door swings open, Dale staggers into the room, quivering under the heft of his absurd tower of baggage._

_Lounging in the top bunk and reading an issue of "Action Comics" is JOHNATHON LEWIS [__**Nicholas Cage]**__. He is about the same age as Cooper, and he speaks with a thick Kentucky accent. A meticulously trimmed Van Dyke frames his face, and rigorously polished alligator-skin boots cover his feet. When he notices Dale's wheezing and straining, he delicately sets aside his comic book and jumps down from his bed, eager to offer his help._

JOHN:

Here, let me give you a hand with that.

DALE:

Thanks.

_The overwhelming collection of baggage is carefully lowered to the floor and dispersed throughout the room. Dale, relieved to be unburdened of his cumbersome load, exhales a breathy "phew". Now that the two men are finally able to see each other's faces, John offers a hand outward to shake with his new bunk-mate._

JOHN:

Johnathon Floyd Lewis, the second. I was named after my daddy.

_Dale attempts to match the formality with a straight face._

DALE:

Dale Bartholomew Cooper. I was named on a whim.

JOHN:

Pleasure to meet you, Dale. I reckon we'll be bunkin' together for a few months, now. Whereabouts do you hail from?

DALE:

I'm from Pennsylvania. How about yourself?

JOHN:

Louisville, Kentucky, sir.

DALE:

May I take a wild stab in the dark and guess that your specialty is marksmanship?

_John smiles, attempting to counter his pride with humility._

JOHN:

There are things that we humble beggars can do in life, sir, and things that we can't do. And, every once in a while there are things that the good Lord does through us. And, when it comes to my marksmanship, His Almighty fires the rifle and uses my body as His conduit.

_Dale smiles at this colorful character he is now rooming with._

DALE:

What are you doing this afternoon?

JOHN:

Apart from deriving the simple pleasures of a comic book, I had nothing planned. What is your offer?

DALE:

Would you care to join me in a drink?

JOHN:

As long as that drink is a dark Bourbon, I would answer a rightly "yes". And, I would add, it would be my honor.

**144\. EXT. FBI ACADEMY, SHOOTING RANGE – DAY**

_The FBI Academy's outdoor shooting range is at the head of a crisp, green field, which is bordered on all sides by trees, embellishing their arduous yearly shedding ritual with a polychromatic display of dying leafs. At the far end of the grassy expanse are a line of wooden targets with specifically measured lines and circles painted on them to gauge accuracy._

_The students form a line at one edge of the field, handguns drawn at the ready. Each Agent-in-training has protective earmuffs clamped atop their heads. Dale Cooper is positioned in his perfected firing stance, his legs slightly bent, and his grip steady and firm. At the behest of the instructor, the students commence firing._

_Many of the students are faring admirably. John, who is to Dale's immediate right, narrows his eyes like a hawk. His rounds pierce the bull's-eye of his assigned target five out of six shots. Dale's marksmanship is surprisingly bad, his bullets only hitting the target twice. After each student has unloaded their firearm, the instructor signals a ceasefire and silence settles over the field. Dissatisfied with his performance, Dale removes his earmuffs and inspects his Glock, carefully. John chuckles and lightheartedly ribs Dale._

JOHN:

Tough luck, my friend. Not all of us were destined to channel the Lord himself behind our barrels. But, I'm sure you'll do alright in other fields.

_Not the least bit deterred, Dale continues fiddling with his handgun. He reaches his finger inside the barrel. Feeling an inconsistency, he shouts out for the instructor._

DALE:

Sir! There's a malfunction with my weapon!

_The instructor approaches. Dale demonstrates the problem, and hands the Glock over to test for himself._

DALE:

Here, you feel that curve in there? It must have interfered with the rotation of the bullet. May I have another try, sir?

_The instructor takes away the faulty weapon and promptly replaces it. Dale lines himself up again, this time at the attention of the gathered students, and fires six shots. With one hundred percent accuracy, all six bullets hit through the bull's-eye. The students stand, amazed, his performance evoking a smattering of applause. John eats his words like a true gentleman._

JOHN:

It would appear that the next five rounds of Bourbon are on me.

_The beautiful blonde woman, positioned further down the shooting range, laughs. Dale catches a glimpse of this._

**145\. INT. HOGAN'S ALLEY, DOGWOOD INN - DAY**

_An elaborate simulated crime scene has been set up in the mock hotel for the students to examine and see what evidence or clues they can uncover. The room is paneled, appropriately, in Dogwood, and red curtains are draped over the windows. There is an unmade bed against the wall and a lone wooden chair placed unceremoniously in the center of the room. To best recreate the conditions of a real crime scene, the class is tested in sections, and only ten students currently occupy the room._

_At the moment, it is Dale's turn. He enters through the front door, the rest of the class watching him work from the far corner. Dale begins by scanning over the hotel room as a whole before he heads over to the bed, closely scrutinizing every inch of it. Pulling out his small evidence kit, he extracts some hair fibers from the sheets. After carefully obtaining them, he takes great care in examining the pillow._

_Dale sniffs the air in the room, discerning a vague scent which prompts him to drop to the floor. He takes note of some minute stains on the carpet, carefully extracting samples of some material. The entire collective of students are watching him with silent awe as he works his magic. Finally satisfied that his examination has been appropriately thorough, Dale indicates that he is finished. The INSTRUCTOR approaches, pen and paper ready to record Dale's performance._

INSTRUCTOR:

Alright, then, Dale. Please tell me what you've ascertained from the crime scene?

DALE:

Firstly, upon entering, no individuals were found on the premises. The bed appears to have been slept in by a single male with short brown hair, based on the samples I found. Furthermore, the fibers on the floor indicate to me that the victim was tied to a chair, where she was fed French fries, the presence of which I detected by the lingering odor of animal fat, and the grease stains upon the carpet where the bag containing the food must have rested. Also, I believe, it was the last meal she ever ate.

_At the outrageous assumption, many students mutter in disagreement._

JOHN:

How could you possibly figure that, Dale?

DALE:

The evidence for murder, I believe, can be found on the pillow and the bed. I noticed tiny holes in the pillow that could have been made by the teeth of someone who was smothered. Lab tests, I believe, will show traces of saliva on the pillowcase, and traces of urine on the bed-cover where the victim lost control of her bladder as she was attacked.

INSTRUCTOR:

Excellent work, Dale. Your attention to detail is outstanding. Let's have a round of applause for Dale, eh?

_The students, a couple of them begrudgingly, join in further applauding Dale's efforts. The beautiful, blonde woman tries in vain to hide her smile as she claps._

**146\. INT. FBI ACADEMY, GYMNASIUM – DAY**

_In a sweaty, squeaky gymnasium, the class is undertaking Defensive Tactics and Physical Training. The poor acoustics of the room contribute to the stressful echoing of the grunts and groans as students wrestle above the padded blue floor matting. They are dressed in protective self-defensive gear, which includes day-glow orange vests, and padding over particularly sensitive external organs. Students are paired together, practicing fighting and blocking. John and Dale have squared off, facing against each other head-on, their spirits growing mutually competitive. John gestures "bring it on" with his upturned palm._

JOHN:

Alright, Northern-Boy. Let's dance.

_John rushes at Dale, unloading a tenacious, if uncoordinated, string of attacks. Dale successfully repels each blow with his forearms. John throws a punch which Dale turns around, trapping John in an arm-lock._

DALE:

Submit. Surrender.

JOHN:

Never! A Southerner never surrenders!

_Dale gleefully holds John in feeble position of powerlessness until an unknown adversary comes up behind Dale, restraining him in an even tighter arm-lock, pulling him away and pinning him against the wall. It is ROBIN MASTERS __**[Naomi Watts]**__, the beautiful blonde woman who has been eying Dale for several days now. Despite the extreme situation, and the strenuous muscle-tension, Robin engages in casual small talk._

ROBIN:

Hello, there. My name's Robin.

_Dale struggles to grunt a response as she holds him in place._

DALE:

Nice to meet you. My name's Dale.

ROBIN:

_Is_ your name Dale? Or is it "Uncle"?

_Robin twists his arm backwards, causing him to writhe in agony._

DALE:

Uncle! Uncle!

_Robin releases him, smiling with satisfied superiority. Dale swings his arm around and wriggles his fingers to aide his circulation._

ROBIN:

You're a talented Agent, Dale, but there will always be someone better than you at something.

DALE:

Now just one minute. You came up behind me while I was holding another opponent.

ROBIN:

It's called "getting the drop on someone".

DALE:

Care to try me on in a fair fight?

ROBIN:

Certainly, so long as the loser buys the first round of drinks tonight.

DALE:

Drinks? Aces!

_The two charge at each other, and Robin effortlessly reverses Cooper and slams him against the wall._

**147\. INT. HOGAN'S BACK ALLEY BAR – NIGHT**

_Hogan's Back Alley Bar is a classy drinking establishment located just outside of the Academy. The majority of the clientele are clearly Special Agents and Agents-in-training. The décor has a Camphor-wood finish and a black marble bar-top. A global selection of drinks and spirits are shelved behind the bar. The handsome bartender cleans glasses with a white rag, his mustache carefully waxed into a symmetrical pair of spirals._

_Robin and Dale, both dressed in formal civilian clothes, sit on two red stools aside the bar. Robin is a stunningly beautiful woman with a smooth, button nose and shapely, expressive eyes. Her every movement and syllable projects confidence, and her commanding demeanor carries an unintentional optimism. Dale has just finished buying their first round, setting two colorful cocktails before them. Robin's drink is a thick red, while Dale's drink is a crisp blue. Roy Orbison's "Only the Lonely" begins playing on the bar's speakers. Robin beams as she instantly recognizes the ditty._

ROBIN:

Oh! I love this song!

_She waits through the build up at the beginning of the song, holding out her hands in a "wait" gesture and grinning with puerility. She joins Roy in mouthing along with the first line._

ROBIN:

"Only the lonely..."

_Dale chuckles, using this cue to break the ice._

DALE:

You're a fan of Orbison?

ROBIN:

Oh, mercy, yes. The greatest singing voice in the history of rock n' roll.

DALE:

My father loves him, as well. He would always play his cassette tapes when we went on road trips.

ROBIN:

I've got all his vinyls, back home.

_Dale takes his first sip of his cocktail and squeaks a pleasantly surprised "Mmm", finding it far more to his liking than either beer or liquor._

DALE:

And, where is home?

ROBIN:

San Francisco. You?

DALE:

Philadelphia. Well... that used to be where my home was. But, unfortunately, it was lost to us.

ROBIN:

Oh, I'm sorry. A fire, was it?

_Dale sighs weightily, masking his loss behind a smirk._

DALE:

No. I regret to say that the culprit this time was the IRS.

ROBIN:

Those narcs!

DALE:

Careful, now. We'll be narcs, soon enough. Provided we make it through training.

ROBIN:

Nothing's going to stop you, Dale. You end up top of the class in nearly every exercise. I wouldn't be surprised if you make valedictorian.

DALE:

That's very kind of you to say, Robin. But, time will tell on that, I guess...

_A beat of silence. The music transitions from the vintage rock n' roll track to a sensual lounge jazz piece. They both take a sip of their drinks, then Dale thinks of something to continue the conversation._

DALE:

So... Robin... what made you want to become an Agent?

_Robin finishes her swallow, then promptly offers her stock answer to this repeatedly asked question._

ROBIN:

Because they wouldn't let me join the circus...

_Dale's voice raises an octave with incredulity at the astonishing coincidence._

DALE:

Really? Me, too! I was a knife thrower!

ROBIN:

I was a juggler!

DALE:

Unbelievable! What did you juggle?

ROBIN:

Anything I could fit in my palms! My favorite was oranges. I could manage four at a time.

DALE:

That's incredible. Can I see?

_Robins eyebrows raise._

ROBIN:

You want me to show you my oranges? Not on a first date.

_Dale shyly laughs, turning slightly red._

ROBIN:

I'll show you my juggling some day, when the time is right. But, you have to show me what you can do with a knife. Promise?

DALE:

It's a deal.

_They mutually indulge themselves in a prolonged smile, each taking another drink, then Dale asks the question again in earnest._

DALE:

But, in all honesty, why did you want to become an Agent?

_Robin stutters while she contemplates how best to express herself, not accustomed to such genuine interest. Dale's engaged eyes urge her to "go on..."_

ROBIN:

I suppose I was born with a strong sense of right and wrong, and I think that defining the line between good and evil and keeping those entities separate is something worth fighting for.

_Dale nods his head in absolute concurrence._

DALE:

I couldn't have said it better myself.

ROBIN:

Also, I... I lost some people very close to me, recently. And, it all seemed to be for no reason at all... I lost sight of my role in the world, and I guess I'm trying to reclaim it.

_Shaking his head in wonder, Dale takes another sip of his cocktail._

DALE:

You're a fascinating woman, Ms. Masters. I believe I sense a kinship between us. Perhaps we would make a good partners.

ROBIN:

I certainly hope so. Because we're going to be partners in the big simulation next week.

DALE:

Really? How do you know?

ROBIN:

I snuck a look at the roster. That's why I wanted to bring you out and break down your inhibitions with alcohol. So I could see if you're someone I can rely on in a rough patch.

DALE:

Sorry to disappoint, but it takes more than one cocktail to break down my inhibitions. Which is why, I'm afraid, I don't drink more than one a night.

ROBIN:

I respect that. A man who knows his limits.

DALE:

Well, here's to us and our future camaraderie!

_The two share a toast, clink their glasses together, and finish their drinks._

**148\. INT. HOGAN'S ALLEY, YELLOW KID CHEMICAL FACTORY – NIGHT**

_The dark mock chemical factory is awash in murky blue twilight. Thousands of dust specks float through the air. Giant metal vats of unidentifiable boiling liquids rise and bubble above the pipes and ducts that carry their contents to other rooms and tanks. Strangely-colored steam and smoke waft through the room, originating from the open faced-vats._

_A group of frightened hostages are on their knees, arms held behind their heads. A cell of heavily-armed terrorists are shouting at the hostages, their rifles aimed menacingly. The dangerous criminals are dressed all in black with masks covering their faces._

_The doors to the warehouse burst open and five Agents rush in, guns drawn and aimed towards the suspects. They all wear slick blue-black uniforms with "FBI" printed on their chests. Dale, who leads the mission, shouts demands as he advances._

DALE:

DROP YOUR WEAPONS! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD! YOU ARE SURROUNDED!

_Several of the terrorists comply and instantly drop their weapons, but one of them turns to open fire. Dale shoots first, the rubber bullets hitting him with pinpoint accuracy and taking him down. Dale quickly looks over the room, then indicates for his cover to advance. The other Agents rush up in organized pattern, each assigning themselves to a terrorists. They keep their men in their sights as they disarm and secure them._

_Dale approaches an especially aggravated gunman and proceeds to handcuff him. As he does so, he flashes a smile at Robin. As she is disarming her culprit, she returns the gesture. Hiding in the stack of crates just behind her is a masked terrorist they had failed to notice, wielding a sharp knife. The man jumps from his place of concealment and grapples the distracted Robin from behind, holding the blade to her neck. Dale immediately draws his weapon and screams at the man._

DALE:

Drop the knife! Let her go! NOW!

_The masked man does not comply, and begins bringing the knife along her neck. Reactign quickly and furiously, Dale shoots him in the head, taking him down. Dale rushes up to Robin, examining her neck._

DALE:

Robin, are you alright?

ROBIN:

Dale, I'm fine...

DALE:

Did he hurt you?

ROBIN:

DALE!

_The man that Dale was in the process of cuffing his risen and armed himself. He turns towards the two Agents and aims his weapon toward them._

DALE:

NO!

_The masked man shoots Robin three times in the chest. Dale screams and shoots him down in retaliation. He looks down in horror at Robin, who lies motionless on the floor._

**149\. INT. FBI ACADEMY, HALL OF HONOR – NIGHT**

_The Hall of Honor is a large, cathedral-like room with a high-reaching ceiling. Dale sits alone on a wooden bench at the far side of the room, gazing with reverence at the portraits of fallen soldiers that adorn the "Service Martyr" wall. Buried within his distant stare is a legitimate sense of loss and self-loathing._

_Far behind him we can see the tall doors open and close. The usually faint sound of the latch fastening booms through the spacious, silent chamber. Dale's expression never changes as we hear the clacking footsteps of the individual trekking the long distance from the door to the bench. _

_At last, emerging from behind Dale, we can see that it is Robin Masters. Without an invitation, she sits beside him, not saying a word. She waits in silence, giving Dale the chance to speak first. He does not look at her as he does so._

DALE:

I failed you... I utterly, unforgivably failed you...

ROBIN:

It was only a simulation.

DALE:

But I could... feel the reality of it. You would be dead, and it would have all been my fault...

ROBIN:

It's _wasn't_ entirely your fault...

DALE:

It was. Yes, it absolutely was. I had not yet finished restraining my assailant. And, I did not conduct a thorough sweep of the area upon entering. Those are amateur mistakes. And, the reason they slipped my mind..

_Dale turns to face her._

DALE:

… was because I was thinking about you. I allowed my attraction to you distract me and cloud my judgment. And, that does not make me fit to be an Agent.

_Dale returns his stare to the wall of portraits._

ROBIN:

Dale... You're a phenomenal Agent. You're exemplary in every field, and you've got gifts the rest of us can only dream of. But, you can't take responsibility for everything that happens in the world. I like you, too, Dale. And, you know what? I didn't check behind those crates, either. I was enjoying your smile as you were cuffing that man. So, I wasn't watching my back. I realize my blame in this, and I accept it. I'll learn from it. But, you... You're too hard on yourself for anyone's good.

_Dale is just shaking his head, impervious to her words of wisdom._

DALE:

I can never again let my guard down because of the way I feel about someone...

_Robin looks down at the floor in disenchanted acquiescence._

ROBIN:

I know... I know that nothing will be able to come of us. It just isn't the right time or place...

_Dale whispers..._

DALE:

Maybe there is no right time or place for me...

_Robin realizes that there are too many things weighing on Dale's mind for her to have any hope of getting though. She excuses herself and leaves Dale alone with his thoughts._

**150\. INT. FBI ACADEMY, GREAT HALL – DAY**

_The entire graduating class of fifty are seated in the auditorium, adorned in their ceremonial robes. The droopy-skinned speaker addresses them once more, his emotional investment in the students' success seemingly genuine._

ACADEMY SPEAKER:

And, with special honors, at the top of the class, I am proud to announce that valedictorian goes to Special Agent Robin Masters!

_Cheers fill the large room as Robin confidently steps up to accept her honor. Dale smiles and joins the deserved applause._

ACADEMY SPEAKER:

May I add that she is the first female Agent to be awarded such an honor. Excellent job, Agent Masters. You've done us all very proud.

**151\. INT. FBI ACADEMY, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale's gigantic horde of luggage are all packed and ready to go, occupying nearly the entirety of the small room's floorspace. Dale and John stand to face one another, saying their goodbyes with manly bravado._

DALE:

Goodbye, John. Thank you for your competitive spirit. It aided immensely in pushing myself to further my abilities. I wish you only the best, and I hope that the marksmanship gifts bestowed upon you by the Lord will be of a great comfort should you find yourself in a dangerous situation.

JOHN:

God bless you, Dale. And, don't you let those big wigs chew you up and spit you out, yahear? You may be green in body, but in mind, you have what it takes to outsmart the best of 'em.

_The two men share a vice-like handshake and hearty pats on the shoulder._

**152\. EXT. FBI ACADEMY, GUN RANGE – DAY**

_A marvelous mixture of purple and orange clouds form a curtain over the Sun as it gracefully disappears behind a distant mountain. Dale and Robin share one final sentimental walk along the gun range. As they step towards us, we stay above their waists at all times, closing in on their faces as they near. They are in high spirits, but an unenviable goodbye awaits them that sullies the atmosphere._

DALE:

So, first you butter me up by saying I have what it takes to be valedictorian, and then you push me out of the spot with your machine gun expertise?

ROBIN:

We both know I was only being charitable. It was never in doubt that the prize was mine. So, where are you being assigned?

DALE:

Pittsburgh. I'm working in Violent Crimes.

ROBIN:

Really? Well done. I'd hoped I would be in Violent Crimes, actually.

DALE:

Yes, it's quite an honor, to be sure, but I must admit I'm a little apprehensive about jumping so untethered into the grit and grime of the real world. I just pray I can stomach whatever I should land in. Where will you be sent?

ROBIN:

San Francisco. Back home. I'll be working in Drug Interdiction. It's all very prestigious, I guess.

DALE:

Sounds exciting...

_They stop walking, Dale turning to face Robin, allowing a heavy sigh before continuing._

DALE:

Well, I guess this is goodbye, then, isn't it?

ROBIN:

I'm so sorry, Dale. Truly.

DALE:

Another time, another moment, things could have been different. But they aren't, and the path we've chosen does not leave us open to be emotionally involved.

_Robin looks at Dale with the eyes of a concerned friend._

ROBIN:

Never forget that you're human, Dale. The reason that _we_ would never work is because we're both Agents, and we're both going different places... but that doesn't apply to everyone. Don't be afraid to be close to someone. Promise me you won't reject love if you ever do find it.

DALE:

Thank you, Robin. I will try.

_The two share their first, and most likely last, kiss. It is a truly bittersweet embrace. As they break away, they unload the full fury of their machine guns, which they had been carrying below waist, into the distance and scream together at the top of their lunges. Mutually, for both Dale and Robin, it is effectively cathartic._

**153\. EXT. PITTSBURGH – DAY**

CAPTION:

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

December 19th, 1981

_The city of Pittsburgh is a beautiful, bustling, major urban city. The central business district forms a distinct triangular tract carved by the confluence of the Ohio River. Steel bridges span the river at intervals, continuing far off into the distance. The congregation of skyscrapers reach well above the natural inclines of the landscape._

**154\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_Special Agent BILL RAUM __**[Michael Keaton]**__, a slim, handsome mumbler who wears his trousers cut too short,__ is sitting back in his chair with his feet up on the table. He is mindlessly fiddling with a pencil between his two pointer fingers._

_Special Agent ALDO SMITH __**[Kevin Pollack]**__, a jaded man with heavy eyelids and a semi-permanent half-smirk, sits at his table eating stir fry noodles out of a grease-stained "to-go" carton with disposable chopsticks. Neither of the men are doing anything vaguely work related, and actually appear rather bored and useless. The intercom buzzes and an unpleasant nasally female voice is heard._

INTERCOM:

Agent Raum, that new recruit, Agent Cooper, has arrived. He's on his way up now.

_As he casually answers the woman on the other side of the intercom, Bill snaps his fingers and makes wild circling gestures with his arms to get Aldo's attention. Aldo, leisurely caught up in devouring his food, is completely oblivious to the world around him._

BILL:

Cooper, really? I didn't know he was coming today. Ahhh... That's okay. That's okay. That's terrific. Send him on up.

_Down the hallway, the faded blue elevator doors slide open, revealing Special Agent Dale Cooper, dressed for the first time in his signature black suit and tie. He strolls into the office projecting confidence and readiness, though in reality, his head swims and his pulse hastens. As Dale rounds the corner into the office proper, Bill rises to greet him._

BILL:

Agent Cooper. Welcome to Violent Crimes. I'm Bill.

_The two Agents shake._

DALE:

Pleasure to meet you.

BILL:

I'm the "de facto" head of the Pittsburgh offices for the time being.

_As he says "de facto", Bill makes quotation gestures with his hand._

BILL:

But, only because we're waiting on a senior Agent to be reassigned, which should be around April. So, don't feel like I'm "the boss" or anything. We're all friends here. Okay? Okay. That's Aldo down there. Say "hello", Aldo.

_Aldo is still lounging back in his chair, his mouth full of noodles. He manages a muffled "Huh?"_

BILL:

That's fine. That's fine. Don't get up. Just smile and wave. Okay. That's Aldo. So, was the trip alright for you? How's your apartment?

DALE:

The trip was fine. I've lived in Pennsylvania my whole life, but it's amazing how much of the state I'd never seen. The apartment is just great. I'm right above a bakery. Waking up to the smell of freshly baked doughnuts every morning... I can only imagine the rejuvenating properties such a lifestyle will contain.

_Bill pats Dale on the shoulder._

BILL:

Love your enthusiasm, kid. Love it. Let me show you over to your desk. And, I'll set you up with your secretary.

DALE:

… I get a secretary?

BILL:

Yeah, yeah. Of course. Of course. I mean, you've got to share her, you know. She's not just yours, if that's what you're thinking. But, yes, yes, you get a secretary.

_Bill leads Dale around the corner towards his desk, isolated in the furthest cranny of the office._

BILL:

You'll be over in this corner. Your desk used to belong to Agent Eddard, and you'll be picking up where he left off. I'm afraid Agent Eddard isn't with us anymore...

_Dale tenses up._

BILL:

Oh, no, no, no. Not dead. Sorry. I mean he's not with Violent Crimes anymore. Sorry. He was transferred. I think he's busting tax dodgers, now. Which, of course, the U.S. Government considers to be a much higher priority than serial killings. Okay. Somewhere underneath that sea of unfinished paperwork is your desk.

_Dale's work space is hardly the professional sanctuary he had hoped for. In fact, it's evident that no effort was put forth whatsoever to prepare his work space prior to his arrival. There is such a dense clutter of papers and folders spread over the top of Dale's desk that the actual surface is hidden from view._

BILL:

That's right, detective. Your first official mystery is "how to make all that paper disappear without resorting to the ol' shredder." Okay. Get to it, kid. Oh, one word to the wise: Avoid the coffee at all costs.

_Bill taps his nose as he walks away, leaving Dale to ponder his Herculean task. Dale sets down his briefcase on the floor and carefully places his handgun on the desktop. Agent Aldo casually wanders over, mouth full of noodles. He looks over Dale's workspace, picking up his firearm with interest. As he gives it a brief inspection, he comments, spitting out bits of chewed food._

ALDO:

Wow. That's the cleanest gun I've ever seen.

_Aldo puts the Glock back down, oily fingerprints left on it's black surface, thus diminishing it's previously noteworthy cleanliness. Dale is left alone with the piles of paperwork staring up at him, as if daring him to take them on. He sits down in his graciously comfortable seat with a heavy sigh. From somewhere in the shadows behind him, there speaks a smokey, breathy voice..._

DIANE:

The most frightening thing about chasing after dreams is the possibility that, should you catch them, you might not be as happy as you'd hoped...

_Dale looks back towards the voice and gazes upon the stunning visage of the one and only DIANE __**[Diane Ladd]**__. The comely blonde-haired woman is older than he and carries an authoritarian air about her, offering years of experience behind her precious words. Though her refinement is somewhat imposing, Dale immediately finds an instinctual comfort in her gentility._

DIANE:

Don't worry, Dale, it's going to get better. They're just dropping you in at the deep end to see how well you can swim. You'll have to backstroke for awhile, but you'll make it to shallow waters, soon enough.

_She extends an elegantly manicured hand with long, bright red nails. Speechlessly, Dale takes it and timidly shakes._

DIANE:

Diane. I'll be your secretary, Agent Cooper. Welcome to the wonderful world of the FBI. Sometimes an exciting, perverse world of gritty crime and violence. More often than not, however, it's the mundane doldrums of uptight, pedantic bureaucracy. I think you'll fit in just fine. But remember... if you do start to sink, I'll be your water wings.

_And with a wink, Diane walks away. Dale cannot conceal the crescent-shaped grin sprawling rapidly across his face._

**155\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES – NIGHT**

_As we fade to the same shot, many hours later, Dale has managed to get the papers at his desk organized into neatly arranged stacks, over half of them filled out. Dale looks over his toil, then glances at the clock, seeing that it is 9:00. He pulls out his tape recorder and speaks into it._

DALE:

Never realized crime generated so much paperwork. Spent my first day on the job behind a desk, sifting through mountains of waste left over by the last Agent in my position. Disappointed that I was not able to bring anyone to justice on my first day. I have been assigned a secretary. Her name is Diane. Believe her experience will be of great help. She seems an interesting cross between a saint and a cabaret singer.

**156\. INT. TENEMENT BUILDING BASEMENT – NIGHT**

_We are in a cold, dank cement basement with a dirt floor. Rats scatter into the corners and maggots grow in pockets of filth. The Shifty Man sits in the dirt and weeps, dried blood coating his hands, arms and face. He had been in the process of burying the body of a recently deceased woman into the dirt. The semi-decaying bodies of two other women are partially buried next to her. All three corpses have been severely butchered._

_The Shifty Man grips a shovel. It looks as though he had been busily digging before he broke down into this pitiful bout of sobbing. The mammoth, inflamed growth on the side of his face is even larger than before, throbbing and dripping an oatmeal-like fluid._

_The Shifty Man looks up at Killer Jack, who lurks within the shadows in the corner of the room, watching him labor with sadistic delight. Jack is still and silent, his malodorous expression never changing. The Shifty Man throws down his shovel in anguish and screams, stomping up and down in a child's tantrum._

SHIFTY MAN:

You can't keep making me do this! I don't want to be a murderer! _You're_ the monster! _You're_ the evil one! Not me! I hate you!

_The Shifty Man picks up the shovel and turns it upside down. He rests his jaw upon the curved edge, indicating that if he so wished, he could use it to slit his own throat._

SHIFTY MAN:

I'll kill myself! I'll do it! Where would you be, then, huh!?

_At this, Jack finally steps forward, egging him on through an unreadable grin._

JACK:

So, do it, then.

_His accent is polished and refined, but his delivery is stern and venomous. Every remorseless syllable spews apathy and hatred._

JACK:

What are you waiting for? Be quick about it.

_The Shifty Man realizes that his gambit has failed._

JACK:

You think this constitutes a threat? This is what I've been waiting for... Give yourself to me.

_After calling the Shifty Man's bluff, Jack relaxes, reveling in this torment._

JACK:

You think you can escape me through death? You're pathetic. Weak. Manipulable. That's precisely why I chose you... You... maggot. Now, finish burying that hole, and then let's go rip some more beauties...

_The Shifty Man looks up at him with weak eyes, searching for an ounce of inner courage._

SHIFTY MAN:

… I'm stronger than you think.

JACK:

We'll see. So what if you are? There's plenty more maggots to be found in the rubbish...

_With that, Jack steps back into the shadowy corner, returning to his previous state of silent observation. With a few pitiful snivels, the Shifty Man submits to his master and returns to shoveling._

**157\. EXT. LEENA'S DINER – DAY**

_It is a gray, dreary day outside of this shabby Los Angeles Diner. The dull paint job is left unfinished, with strips of dried paint peeling off in long strands, and a filthy dumpster rests in an unappealingly close proximity to the front entrance._

_A taxi cab pulls up to the curb outside, and Special Agent PHILLIP JEFFRIES __**[David Bowie]**__ emerges. In the hopes that no one will recognize him, the enigmatic FBI Agent conceals himself in a trench-coat, it's collar pulled up high, and hides his eyes behind dark sunglasses. __His characteristic bleach-blonde hair, however, is stylishly gelled to stand up straight, and betrays his identity at a first glance._

_An unremarkable white Sedan is parked just outside the diner, it's tinted windows rolled up high. Jeffries casts a suspicious glance at it, but cannot see who is inside through the opaque black glass. Dismissing the vehicle, he strides past towards the diner entrance. We hold on the car for a moment, forever left wondering whether anyone is inside..._

**158\. INT. LEENA'S DINER – DAY**

_The atmosphere inside the trashy diner is exclusively blue-collar, which makes it a superb choice to keep a low profile. Windom Earle is seated alone in a booth towards the back of the smokey restaurant. He is nearly unrecognizable, disguised in a flannel work shirt, a terrible toupee, and red-rimmed spectacles. The Special Agent is idly playing with the toothpicks which were previously housed in the small condiment container upon the table. Windom has managed to erect a two-story structure with the toothpicks, which precariously wavers due to it's insufficient ground support._

_The front door of the diner opens, it's tacky little bell jingling, and Phillip Jeffries enters. As Windom's attention is pulled forward, his tower of toothpicks topples over. Allowing a brief sigh to mourn the destruction of his miniscule domicile, he raises his hand and snaps a finger, signaling the other Agent to his location. Jeffries discreetly saunters to the back of the restaurant and joins his friend in the booth, which squeaks noisily as he situates himself._

WINDOM:

Hello, Phillip. Thank you for coming. I realise how risky these meetings are for you. Food's on me. I hope you like meatloaf.

JEFFRIES:

Actually, I don't.

_Jeffries speaks with a thick Southern drawl. He removes his dark glasses, showcasing his extraordinary eyes; one blue and one gray. Windom furrows his brow as he checks the menu again._

WINDOM:

Nor do I. But, their selection is... sparse. What'll you have, then?

JEFFRIES:

Coffee and curly fries.

WINDOM:

Now, that's a well-balanced meal, right there. Pardon me, miss...

_Windom flags down a GREEK WAITRESS. The woman is young and looks as though she might have once been pretty, if the unsanitary and uninspiring environment her life had placed her in hadn't worn her down and stripped away her youth so quickly._

GREEK WAITRESS:

Τι;

WINDOM:

Yes, I'll have the pistachio salad. And, my friend will have curly fries. Coffee for us both, please.

GREEK WAITRESS:

Τι; Δεν μιλούν αγγλικά.

WINDOM:

Ah. Dandy.

_Evidently, the waitress is completely unable to understand English. Determined not to lose his patience, Windom picks up the menu and points to the salad section._

WINDOM:

I'll have a sah-lahd. Pih-stah-shee-yoh sah-lahd. Got that?

_Windom indicates himself, and then makes an "okay" circle with his thumb and forefinger. The waitress frantically scribbles his order down on her notepad._

GREEK WAITRESS:

Ρολό κιμά. Εντάξει. Εντάξει.

_Windom continues pointing to the appropriate pictures of the menu during his game of charades._

WINDOM:

And, my companion, here, will have fry-ees. Kuhr-lee. Kuhr-lee.

_Windom spins his finger in a circle to demonstrate the shape of fries they desire. The waitress nods in understanding._

GREEK WAITRESS:

Σγουρό πατάτες.

WINDOM:

And, for both of us... both of us... Kah-fee. Kah-fee.

_Windom imitates the act of drinking from a pantomimed cup._

GREEK WAITRESS:

Καφές.

WINDOM:

Mm-hmm. That sounded right.

_The waitress scrambles away to the back counter to prepare their order. Windom looks across the table to Jeffries with gratitude._

WINDOM:

I regret that I must bid on your favour so often. I wish there was someone else we could trust. A circle of two is not very large.

JEFFRIES:

I don't think two can even be a circle. I think that's more like a dash.

_The waitress returns to their booth, dropping off a large pot of coffee and accompanying cream, and then busily scurries off to another customer. Windom pours a cup for himself and his friend as they talk, thick steam trailing above the piping hot mugs and forming a misty division between the two men._

WINDOM:

Do you take yours black?

JEFFRIES:

Exclusively.

_Windom lifts up the complimentary creamer cup, curiously noting the volume of it's contents._

WINDOM:

I can never understand why diners insist on issuing us with so much cream. I mean, look at that! There's enough for seven coffees, here.

JEFFRIES:

I never use it.

WINDOM:

Precisely! I mean, coffee's only a dollar. This has got to be, what, fifty cents' worth of cream, right?

JEFFRIES:

It must be so they can jack up the price.

WINDOM:

Fiendish capitalism at play, once more...

_Windom slides Jeffries' glass over to him._

JEFFRIES:

You know, I've got a good feeling about that Gordon Cole.

WINDOM:

Cole. Right. He's the... Deputy Director of... something-or-other.

JEFFRIES:

It's a long title, I know. I could never remember it, either. Anyway, I've been working with him lately, and he's a real solid apple. I'd confirm with you first before I'd consider telling him anything, of course, but he seems trustworthy. And, he doesn't mind stretching the boundaries of departmental discretion.

_Windom nods._

WINDOM:

I'll keep him in mind.

_Windom raises the cup to his face and takes a sip._

WINDOM:

Ooh. Ooh, that's good.

JEFFRIES:

Alright. So, what's going on?

_Windom lowers his cup to the table, licking his lips in preparation. He eagerly rests his wrists on the edge, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he begins._

WINDOM:

I've witnessed something astonishing. Something that has changed the game. But, I fear that I may now be in danger, and you're the only one in the Agency that I can trust.

JEFFRIES:

Thank you Windom. You know I feel the same way.

WINDOM:

I must hand over everything to you, in case I become compromised.

_Windom pulls a portfolio out of his briefcase. Jeffries whispers in suspense._

JEFFRIES:

What did you see?

WINDOM:

As you know, for nearly the past twelve years I've been following a cell of Dugpas that operate out of Washington State.

JEFFRIES:

The Circulars. Right.

_Windom opens up his portfolio and lays out a picture of Archibald Battis, the Head Circular whom he met at the Circular Lodge in Twin Peaks._

WINDOM:

Two months ago, the Head Circular, Archibald Battis, vacated Twin Peaks and emigrated down to Los Angeles. Since that time, he has been working alongside a local cabal of Dugpas that, until recently, I did not know existed.

_Windom places another photo on the table. It shows Archibald in a grassy field meeting with men in hooded robes._

WINDOM:

I took this picture while I was concealed in some shrubbery. The leader of the LA sect is this man. I think he's schizophrenic and appears to be extremely dangerous. The only name he goes by is "Helper".

_Windom gives Jeffries a photo of Helper he blew up to show details of his features._

WINDOM:

Now, the rest of the gang are of the unsavoury, clandestine types we are used to encountering in these social circles... with the exception of this man.

_Windom slaps a picture on the table of a slightly overweight man with a bulbous nose. He is also garbed in a hooded robe._

JEFFRIES:

What's special about him? Is he a famous occultist or something?

WINDOM:

His name is Fredrick Olcott. He's an ex-pat Englishman who emigrated out West to oversee aircraft construction. He has no previous experience with the occult, no rap sheet, and no reason to hold a place of such importance within the Dugpas' hierarchy.

JEFFRIES:

… So, what is he, then?

_Windom's eyes grow large, and he speaks in a slight delirium._

WINDOM:

Phillip... I attended one of their meetings! I was hidden in a crate of medical supplies, and I saw everything...

**159\. INT. WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_As Windom narrates, we cut to a flashback of the meeting. Windom is laying sideways in a couched position inside of a wooden crate marked "Haloperidol". He is practically upside down, peering out through a hole in the side. From his perspective, we can see the room is filled with twelve men dressed like druids. They are all joining in a low-pitched, guttural chant._

_Their leader, HELPER __**[Brad Dourif**__], has a sharp nose, bizarre asymmetrical hair, and blood-hungry eyes. He jumps up and down, clapping his hands like a giddy child.__ Next to him is Archibald Battis, who maintains a far calmer composure and an arrogant smirk, his eyes continually shimmying from side-to-side._

_FREDRICK OLCOTT __**[Freddie Jones]**__, a heavy-set Englishman with an overactive saliva gland, wispy gray hair, and a multitude of additional chins,__ is bound to a chair between the two Dugpa leaders. A gag is wrapped around his mouth, and he seems utterly confused about what's going on. The ten other Dugpas stand in a semicircle around them._

WINDOM NARRATIVE:

At first, he didn't know who they were, or what they were doing there. The poor wretch was just a patsy. But, they unleashed something from within him... Something horrible...

_Two Dugpas drag a large trough of water across the room and rest it on the floor before Fredrick. Twelve wax candles are lit in a circle around him. Battis steps forth, cryptically reciting a rehearsed rhetoric. The other Dugpas continue their chant._

BATTIS:

Come visit us, oh Dark One, so that you may give us direction. We wish only to serve you so that we may all bask in the Black Factory together and laugh at the rabble left behind in this dying, green world.

_Unable to restrain his excitement, Helper jumps around the room, laughing insanely. He grabs Fredrick's scalp and removes his gag. Before the captive can object, Helper dunks him into the water, over and over. Bubbles come up to the surface as he struggles for release. Each time his head is brought up, gasping for air, a change gradually comes over him. After the seventh dunk, he howls like a wild animal._

WINDOM NARRATIVE:

The water brought about the change... He became a different person...

_Battis cuts the bonds loose, and the former captive stands upright with empowered regalia. Helper, who was previously torturing him, now scampers away in __fear__ful reverence. Fredrick's entire persona is completely altered. He bellows boisterously with an air of theatrical import. His words contain an acerbic wit, but are undercut with a true malevolence._

FREDRICK:

Ah, my adoring public... You really know how to bring out the best in me, don't you? I can't conceive of a more succouring sight after my reemergence from the Abyss than to be faced with the languid, flustered faces of you, my devoted coterie of arcane, power-lusting druids. You Dugpas are my kind of people.

HELPER:

We love you, oh Lord of Darkness.

_Fredrick modestly swats his hand in a "pish-posh" gesture._

FREDRICK:

Oh, pshaw! Do not lavish me with unearned titles. I'm no Lord, yet... but that _is_ the next tally on the agenda.

_Fredrick extends his pointer finger to get a number of his followers._

FREDRICK:

Now, let's get a headcount! Who, here, would like to abet your new ally in gaining control of the Black Lodge, and ushering in an unparalleled epoch of darkness upon the Earth? The rewards you shall reap will be everlasting.

_The Dugpas collectively drop to their knees and bow. Fredrick's gaze goes colder and obsessively zealous._

FREDRICK:

I have a plan. A far-spanning, premeditated, gloriously Byzantine stratagem. And you shall _all_ be instrumental in it's completion. Every... last... one of you.

_With this final utterance, Fredrick meets Windom's stare dead on through the small hole in the crate, and winks at him. Windom is horrified at the implication that this inhabiting spirit is aware of his presence, and is further confused as to why he does not make this knowledge known to the rest of the assembly._

FREDRICK:

I'm sorry, kiddies, but that's all for this week. I have to skedaddle. Some errands to be done back on the home-front... and the Missus will just kill me if I'm late. But... fruition deftly approaches!

_Fredrick puts his hands on his chest, gesturing to himself._

FREDRICK:

Make sure that the mooning marionette, here, remains in the dark. He's quite a comfortable fit for the time being... albeit a few sizes too large.

_He pats his chubby belly, demonstratively._

FREDRICK:

All this to and fro rigmarole has me spent. I'm no longer appeased being relegated to merely a reoccurring guest role in this world. I want full billing as a regular cast member. Or, at the very least, a choice spot in the "Also Starring" category. Au revoir.

_With a wave, the inhabiting spirit leaves and Fredrick falls fast asleep back into his chair. Two of the Dugpas chloroform him and drag him away._

**160\. INT. LEENA'S DINER – DAY**

_We cut back to a drained Windom. Reliving the experience has taken a lot out of him._

WINDOM:

I beheld an inhabiting spirit. And, he knew that I was there. Which leads me to believe that my life may now be in danger.

_Jeffries shakes his head, trying to digest all of this. He pulls out a pack of smokes and prepares to light up._

JEFFRIES:

Do you mind?

WINDOM:

Not at all. I'm apt to join you.

_Jeffries takes a deep drag of his cigarette and blows it into the air, filling their booth with smoke. Windom does not notice, inhaling normally. He shakes his head and chuckles to himself._

WINDOM:

It's amazing how the advance of time reforms all perspective. Back when I was young... my mind full of fantasy... I sought to discover aliens, believing they would be a boon to science, and perhaps would offer us some valuable insight on how to rectify our fallacious human ways. And now, here we are, striving to quell the forces of extra-dimensional evil from invading our little world.

JEFFRIES:

How frightening reality is, eh?

WINDOM:

Those pariahs at Project Blue Book have no conception how dangerous their meddling might be. And, to think that they confiscated all of my research...

_The Greek waitress returns once more with two platters. She sets Phillip's curly fries before him, and places a large plate of a jiggling, brown, meat-like substance in front of Earle._

WINDOM:

Ah. Meatloaf. Precisely what I didn't order.

GREEK WAITRESS:

Απολαύστε το!

WINDOM:

Yeah-huh...

_Finding no energy to complain via body-language, Windom passively accepts the erroneous dish. Pleased with her prompt service, the waitress merrily returns to the kitchen. Rather then partake of the inedible beef bi-product, Windom explores the consistency of the nauseating culinary catastrophe with his fork._

JEFFRIES:

How's your wife... Carole...

WINDOM:

Caroline.

JEFFRIES:

Caroline. Does she have any idea?

WINDOM:

None at all. Doesn't suspect a thing. I've cleaned up all of my tracks. Christ... if I wanted to have an affair, I'd be a wizard.

_They both laugh._

JEFFRIES:

Yeah, right. You're the straightest arrow I've ever met, Windom.

_Windom lowers his fork, his eyes watering as he pictures his wife._

WINDOM:

I love her, you know. With all of my heart. That's what made me second guess my involvement in all of this. If something were to happen to me... I couldn't bare to leave Caroline alone.

JEFFRIES:

Responsibility is the most painful burden to bear, my friend.

_Windom looks at Phillip with a sorrowful stare._

WINDOM:

Why did it have to be us?

JEFFRIES:

Because it had to be someone. We were just... in the wrong place at the wrong time.

_Windom looks down at the ground, overcome with a pervading sadness. Originating virtually from nowhere, a sad feeling takes him over. His heart drowns in anguish, and his eyes awash in tears. Noticing this change, Philip takes him by the hand._

JEFFRIES:

What is it, friend?

_Windom looks at Phillip with desperation, finding it difficult to express his intuition._

WINDOM:

I've realised that... something terrible is going to happen to everyone I will ever love... and that it will all be my fault...

JEFFRIES:

No, no, no...

_Philip pats his hand and shares a story with Windom in the hopes that it will offer consul._

JEFFRIES:

I had a dream the other day...

_Windom manages a light scoff._

WINDOM:

You and your dreams...

JEFFRIES:

I was in a white room, and you were there... It was many, many, many years from now, but you looked about the same age... And, you'd been lost for a long time... So long, in fact, that you'd given up hope of ever finding your way out... But then, after so much lonely waiting... somethin' wonderful happened, and... you were able to see your beloved Caroline again... And, the two of you danced together on this tiled floor... You danced a beautiful waltz together... and you were joined by many other lost souls...

_Windom hears these words with hallowed melancholia. His voice breaks._

WINDOM:

I'm so sorry, Phillip...

JEFFRIES:

Why? You haven't done anything.

WINDOM:

But, I will...

_Phillip holds his friend's hand tightly, refusing to give up on him._

JEFFRIES:

Don't lose hope, Windom... At the end of the day, it's all we really have...

_Windom's eyes fill with tears as he nods in reluctant agreement._ _As they silently begin their meals, we move above Windom's head and into the booth directly behind him. Sitting, hiding behind a newspaper, is JUDY MOON __**[Vivian Wu]**__. She is a stunningly beautiful Chinese woman with short, black hair styled into a pompadour and lips colored coral-red. Hiding her eyes behind dark sunglasses, the mysterious woman has been listening intently to every word the two Agents have said..._

**161\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES, KITCHEN NOOK – DAY**

_In the furthest corner of the office is a small kitchen nook. The plain white tiling of the floor contrasts with the dull gray carpet of the rest of the office. The tiny extension houses a refrigerator, a toaster, and a coffee machine. A pot of black coffee is clicking away as it steeps._

_Dale is reviewing a forensics report as he absentmindedly pours himself a cup of coffee from the Bureau pot. As he takes a sip of the murky liquid, he involuntarily spits it back out, spluttering a repulsed yelp as he does so. Embarrassed, he surveys the damage done by his inability to pass the horrendous coffee beyond his gag reflex. The vital documents in his hand are now soggy and stained with his caffeinated expectoration. He pulls out his tape recorder._

DALE:

Diane, please make a note to the procurement division about the coffee they now supply the Bureau with. Until coming to this office, I had never met a bean I didn't like. I can only wonder what Hellhole of a government surplus warehouse they unearthed this blend from, and what war it was captured in.

_Aldo strolls up behind him, having overheard._

ALDO:

That's what thermoses are for, Dale.

_Aldo shakes his own thermos in demonstration._

ALDO:

When you're in Tijuana, you don't drink water from the tap. When you work for the US government, you don't drink coffee from the pot. Savvy?

_Dale shakes his head in bemused wonder._

DALE:

Undrinkable coffee. What horrors await me next, I wonder?

**162\. INT. TENEMENT BUILDING BASEMENT – DAY**

_The bright flash of a forensics photographer's camera momentarily illuminates the dark room. The grayed, decomposing hand of one of the dead women is sticking out of the dirt, limply dangling from it's wrist. The flash casts it's grisly silhouette against the wall. Maggots have spread throughout the corpses, nesting within pockets of the putrefying skin._

_Dale, Bill and Aldo, all dressed in matching black suits and ties, descend the stairs. Dale observes the morbid crime scene with wide eyes, disturbed by the horrors dwelling within this dismal underground chamber. Bill's demeanor is jaded, but he is nonetheless unsettled by these surroundings. Aldo, surprisingly, is eating raw radishes from a plastic carton. Dale covers his nose with his sleeve._

BILL:

Yes, that bouquet you're relishing... that would be what alerted the construction workers next door. These ladies have been here awhile.

_The three Special Agents step towards the center of the room, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. Another flash from the photographer fills the dim._

BILL:

Okay. Forensics are en route. While we're waiting... why don't you survey the scene? Let's see how you operate, Rube.

_Dale takes a shallow breath as he stands over the partially exposed bodies. He exhumes his tape recorder. Bill and Aldo exchange moderately impressed glances._

DALE:

Diane, I am standing in the basement of an abandoned tenement building. The floor is dirt. What appear to be several fresh graves are lined up in a row. Extending out of one of these is a hand. It appears to be female.

_Dale crouches down to examine the grayed hand, closely._

DALE:

There is a thin silver band on the ring finger. Forensics is on the way and will begin the excavation.

_Dale pauses and his voice grows soft._

DALE:

I am quickly realizing that reality is far outdistancing the worst my imagination can conjure.

_Dale clicks off his recorder and returns to a standing position. Aldo takes a hearty crunch of radish. The silence is further broken by a conversation coming from upstairs. An impatient man is caustically barking orders to the policeman presiding over the cordoned area._

ALBERT:

Rosenfield! R-O-S-E-N-F-I-E-L-D! I'm here with forensics! Please let us through! Forensics! F-O-R-E-N-S-I-C-S!

_Bill and Aldo roll their eyes at one another._

BILL:

Hold on tight...

ALBERT:

The message has been received! Hallelujah! Have a cracker! Now heel! Stay! Good boy!

_Dale throws an uncomfortable glance at Bill, who whispers back reassuringly, with a thumbs up._

BILL:

He's the best.

_ALBERT ROSENFIELD __**[Miguel Ferrer]**__ hurriedly steps down the stairway. He is followed by two expressionless goons wearing dark sunglasses. All three men wear the black suits and ties of Federal Agents. Albert looks over the room for only a scant few seconds._

ALBERT:

Hello, Bill. We've got three stiff women, is that correct?

BILL:

That's right. Three. All in a line, there.

ALBERT:

Okay, let's gently clear this top layer of dirt away. Boys, hand me my dusting kit.

_Albert points to Dale._

ALBERT:

You. How long ago were the bodies found?

_Albert speaks so quickly that Dale barely has enough time to process what has been said, let alone answer it._

ALBERT:

Yes, you in the black. How long ago were the bodies found? Minutes? Hours? Days?

_Albert snaps his fingers._

ALBERT:

Hello?! Do you speak English?! Los muertos! ¿Cuánto tiempo!

DALE:

About an hour ago!

ALBERT:

"About"? What does "about" mean? Is "about" official procedure? Bill, is this guy new?

BILL:

Yep. Two months out of the academy.

_Albert rolls his eyes. He speaks under his breath, but allows his comment to remain clearly audible._

ALBERT:

Saints preserve me. I have a killer to catch, not a daycare center to run.

_Albert loudly addresses Dale once more, pointing at his watch in an over-exaggerated gesture._

ALBERT:

What time were they found!? ¿A qué hora?

DALE:

9:24 am. Precisely.

ALBERT:

Aaand, you win a gold star!

_Albert's goons have returned. They hand the dusting kit to Albert, who sets about to work on excavating the bodies. Dale turns around, careful not to meet anyone's eyes, and fumes up the stairs. He talks into his tape recorder._

DALE:

Diane, what do you know about a Special Agent named Albert Rosenfield, and why is he so angry?

**163\. INT. PITTSBURGH MORGUE – DAY**

_Dale, Bill and Aldo are in the cold, sterile, characterless autopsy room. The gruesome, decaying bodies of the three women are laid out on neighboring tables. There is a faint, but unsettling squeaking coming from somewhere in the room._

_Albert Rosenfield, dressed in his scrubs, paces back and forth, presenting his findings. He never smiles once during his lecture. Bill and Dale stand attentively, and Aldo is sloppily eating a lamb kebab._

ALBERT:

The women were murdered at different times from each other. The first dates back seventeen days ago, the second eleven days, and the third six days. Which means we have a serial murderer who will more than likely strike again.

_Shivers wind their way down Dale's spine, the distracting squeaking contributing to his goosebumps. Albert exhibits a series of photographs which offer close-ups of the severed stomachs of the corpses. As he explains measurements and precise details, he visually demonstrates with coordinated hand movements._

ALBERT:

All three women were murdered by puncture wounds to the chest and stomach from a sharp knife. Judging by the width of the entry wounds, it looks to be a French style chef's knife about eight inches in length, and one and a half inches in width. Each woman died from blood loss, as no single wound hit a vital organ. It's likely that they remained alive for several minutes during the attack. The stab wounds appear to be the only serious form of harm inflicted, except for the second woman, who has some minor beatings about the face. Also of note, none of the women were sexually molested. So, at the very least, we know that the murderer is a cavalier.

_While the three Agents are somewhat sickened by the graphic details, they are all the more sickened by the distasteful and inappropriate joke delivered so dryly by Albert. Aldo takes a big bite out of his kebab, and tzatziki sauce spills onto the floor with a series of plops._

ALBERT:

Don't look so down in the mouth. I bring tidings of good news! This bastard will be easy to catch if he strikes again. Apparently, he has a very peculiar fetish for signing his work.

_Albert gestures towards a group of three jars resting in the corner, which seem to be where the sickening squeaking originates. He lifts up one of the jars and showcases it's contents to the trio. Inside is one of the bizarre blue Beetles with the black crescent Moon on it's back. It crawls around inside the jar, it's antennae squirming about in random contortions._

ALBERT:

Each body had one of these Beetles burrowing inside of their brain. The killer must have inserted them himself, because they all entered through the same manner...

_After a well timed pause, Albert points to the side of his head._

ALBERT:

The left ear canal.

_Bill whistles, reflexively checking his own ear for intruders._

BILL:

Now, there's a new wrinkle.

_Albert holds the jar close to his face and looks over the large bug with scientific curiosity._

ALBERT:

We haven't even come close to pinpointing the species. Unlike anything I've ever seen before... Perhaps it's an obscure specimen from the Amazon, or some other third world Hellhole, but it's certainly not indigenous to Pittsburgh. Which means this bastard might be a zoologist, or a collector of rare insects.

_The three Agents stare in puzzlement at the skittering creatures. Albert holds up a finger._

ALBERT:

But, wait! It gets stranger, yet...

_Albert raises up the third jar._

ALBERT:

This little fellow burrowed his way directly into the center of the cerebellum, where he stretched out, relaxed, and remained alive and well for seventeen days without food. And, as you can see...

_Albert callously rattles the jar back and forth, prompting the Beetle to liven up and move about._

ALBERT:

He's still got plenty of moxie. I've absolutely no idea how he's remained alive for so long. The other two will be sent to an animal testing lab, but we'll keep this guy and see how long he can last if we leave him in there. Anyone care to place any wagers?

_Dale feels himself inexorably drawn towards the Beetle... He takes the jar from Albert and examines it. As we pull in closer upon the strange creature, we can hear the sickeningly slippery sounds of it's little legs rubbing together as it crawls around the jar._

_Dale's eyes connect with the crescent shaped Moon on it's back. A deep sound of feedback fills his ears, and his head begins to ache. He suddenly feels very sick and excuses himself, handing the jar back to Albert. The three men watch curiously as he leaves._

ALBERT:

Interesting. I'd have thought the dismembered women would have made him ill. Not the bug.

**164\. EXT. REDFERN PARK – NIGHT**

_Dale sits alone on a park bench in the dark of night. Not a soul occupies the small public greenery at this late hour. Dale looks up at the magnificent full Moon which graces the sky as he speaks faintly into his tape recorder._

DALE:

I fear the force at work here is the same one I encountered while at Haverford. I have not expressed this to anyone. The recognition that evil exists as an entity outside our understanding of life is not official policy of the Bureau.

_Dale clicks off his tape recorder, finding no comfort within the still silence. He notices a scruffy alley cat creeping past some dirty trash cans, contorting it's hind-leg to lick it's own fur clean. Dale sighs heavily and adds a morose addendum to his recording..._

DALE:

Whatever road it is I'm traveling along... I wish I didn't have to go it alone.

**165\. EXT. LONELY TRAIN TRACKS – NIGHT**

_On a lonely expanse of empty land, in a lonely section of the state, is a lonely stretch of railroad. In the darkness of the night, lit only by the faint glow of the Moon, the Shifty Man runs along the train tracks. He stumbles over himself in his desperate haste, dizzy from exhaustion. He does not know where he is running to, nor does he fully understand what it is that he is running from. He is out of ideas, and he is out of options. His hands are coated with dirt and caked with blood. His growth has ballooned to such immense proportions that it has disfigured nearly his entire face. He does not appear long for this world..._

_From somewhere in the gloom, the Shifty Man can feel eyes beating down upon him. Even though his tormentor is nowhere to be found in the darkness, he knows that Killer Jack is somehow keeping a watch on him. Perched upon a dead skeletal tree that has managed to remain standing on this otherwise desolate dirt expanse is a Giant Horned Owl. It watches the man with uncaring eyes as he rushes past, not inclined to lend any form of comfort or help. The Shifty Man sobs as he careens aimlessly into the long, lonely night, and the distant freight train blows it's mournful tone..._

**166\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES – DAY**

CAPTION:

June 4th, 1982

_After a long rest on black, we cut to Dale Cooper, sitting somberly at his office desk. Once again, he toils listlessly, pen fiercely gripped in hand, over inconsequential paperwork. He fights to keep his eyes from losing their focus._

_Out in the main lobby, the faded blue elevator doors slide open to reveal Special Agent Windom Earle, wearing his finest black suit and tie. He strolls into the office at a brisk pace, anxious to acquaint himself with his new home._

_The view awaiting him, unfortunately, lacks the luster he'd anticipated. Bill is lounging back with his feet up on his desk, mindlessly cleaning underneath his fingernails with a dirty graphite pencil. Aldo is eating a bright red Indian curry from a foil take-out container. Neither of them seem to have even noticed their superior's entrance._

WINDOM:

You must be the alert young team I've been sent to whip into shape!

_Both men frantically bolt upright. Aldo spills some red curry sauce on his white dress shirt. Windom puts on a stern face, relishing in the two men's childlike guilt after being caught dawdling. Able to maintain his performance no longer, Windom playfully chuckles. His genial smile instantly dissolves the tension in the room._

WINDOM:

Don't worry, lads. I've heard commendable things about both of you. Special Agents Bill Raum and Aldo Smith.

_Windom correctly points to each Agent as he names them off._

WINDOM:

I'm Windom Earle. Pleasure to meet you.

_Bill clumsily gets up from his desk, shaking hands with the respect-commanding Agent Earle._

BILL:

Hello. Yes. Sorry, sorry. I knew you were coming this week, but... ah... I thought you'd be in tomorrow.

WINDOM:

No, sir. I am here, today.

_Bill shouts towards the back of the office._

BILL:

Hey, Rube! Come out here and meet the new boss!

_Windom modestly uses his hands to swat away the word "boss"._

WINDOM:

Please... Such monikers make me cringe. I'm not here to lord over you. I'm here to work alongside this winning team.

_Dale walks into the room and hesitates. Both men recognize each other instantly as they shake hands._

WINDOM:

Windom Earle.

_Dale is practically starstruck and is unable to introduce himself._

DALE:

I don't believe it... Haverford Civics Center... You were the Agent I met at the job fair! You inspired me to enter the academy! Do you remember me? My name is –

WINDOM:

Dale Cooper. Of course I remember you. I've been following your progress since you graduated. I haven't been disappointed.

DALE:

You've really been reading up on me, sir?

WINDOM:

Windom, not "sir". And, yes, I have. I don't spew pedantry towards others. I was completely genuine when I said that I had a good feeling about you.

_Dale has difficulty accepting this man's vote of confidence. His genuinely gleeful smile says more than words ever could._

DALE:

I am honored beyond my ability to express myself. Thank you... Windom. I must say, I'm thrilled about your transfer here.

_Agents Bill and Aldo discreetly roll their eyes to each other at the male-bonding bordering on homo-eroticism that takes place before them._

WINDOM:

Yes, indeed. I feel likewise. I expect we'll have a chance to work together in the field, quite soon.

DALE:

I eagerly anticipate it.

**167\. EXT. EASTERN SAVINGS AND LOAN – DAY**

_Loud, explosive gunfire is exchanged in the doorway of an Eastern Savings and Loan. Police cars and news vans are parked around the corner of the normally dull street, keeping their distance but trying to be kept abreast of the action. Two masked men are inside the bank, heavily armed with assault rifles. They have forced the staff, as well as the patrons who happened to be inside, onto their knees with hands behind their heads._

_At the moment, two police officers are engaged in gunfire with one of the robbers through the half-open doorway. A fatal rifle shot blows off one of the cop's faces, and his lifeless body is sent reeling backwards. The other cops run for cover. The door closes and locks once more, and the armed men resume patrolling the bank. They are screaming something at the bank manager, who is crying while he rests on his knees, unable to comply with their demands._

_Bill and Aldo, both equipped with sub-machine guns, are on the roof of the building. Ropes tied around their waist, they are getting into position to enter. Two other Agents are approaching from the rear, while Windom and Dale are encroaching upon the left side, both armed with 12-gauge shotguns. The two men look upon the scene with strong resolve. Dale is very nervous, his teeth involuntarily chattering. Windom gives him a reassuring glance._

_Without any warning, frustrated with the lack of compliance, one of the armed men walks up to the sobbing bank teller and shoots him through the head._

WINDOM:

GO! GO! GO!

_The three teams of Agents close in on the bank. Dale and Windom are the first to make it inside._

**168\. INT. EASTERN SAVINGS AND LOAN – DAY**

_Dale spies the body of the bank teller laying on the floor in an expanding pool of blood. The customers are all crying, hysterically, doubtful that they will live to see another Sunrise. Windom gestures their attack plan silently with precise hand gestures, and Dale understands perfectly. Their shotguns raised high, both men storm into the room, assigning one of the masked men to keep their weapon aimed on at all times. Windom barks a command._

WINDOM:

DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS! NOW!

_Windom's assigned gunman freezes, but the perpetrator whom Dale has in his sights does not surrender and raises his weapon to fire. With only a second to react, Dale unloads two powerful, consecutive blasts from his shotgun, both of them hitting the man squarely in the chest. As his intestinal tract whips loose and scatters across the floor, his dying body fires one shot into the floor and he falls lifelessly like a sack of laundry._

_The other man immediately drops his gun and gives himself up to Windom. Dale is frozen in his spot, staring at the body he has just rendered lifeless. Windom restrains the criminal, keeping Dale in his gaze. He shouts to his stunned friend, shaking him back to reality._

WINDOM:

Dale! You still with me!?

DALE:

Yes. Yes. I'm here.

**169\. EXT. EASTERN SAVINGS AND LOAN – DAY**

_Dale is sitting in the back of a parked ambulance, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He holds a Styrofoam cup of coffee, the steam rising from it's rim. He does not drink from his cup, but merely stares blankly ahead._

_A pair of medics are rolling past with the body Dale is responsible for. With no amount of pride, he notices the particularly blood-soaked sheet used to cover up the remains. Windom saunters over to Dale and leans against the ambulance. He also holds a cup of hot coffee, his hands wrapped firmly around it to keep warm._

WINDOM:

Welcome to the club that no one wants to be a part of.

_Windom takes a sip from his cup of coffee. He moans distastefully after doing so._

WINDOM:

Ugh. Tastes like an ash tray.

_Seeing how distraught Dale is, Windom leans forward and offers words of consul._

WINDOM:

You performed admirably, Dale. He made the wrong choice, and you made the right one. They'll give you a leave of absence, and I suggest you take that time to reflect. Listen, why don't you come over to my house for dinner tomorrow and join me in a game of Chess? And meet my lady fair?

_Unable to speak, Dale only nods. Windom gently pats Dale on the shoulder as he leaves._

WINDOM:

Atta boy. See you tomorrow.

**170\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_Dale arrives at his desk in the morning. Resting atop the layers of paperwork is a __love__ly bouquet of blue flowers. Dale picks it up and notices it has a card attached which reads "_So sorry that you must suffer in order to protect us all. May your conscience be as crystal clear as the blue in these Geraniums. – Diane_". Dale smiles._

**171\. EXT. THE BLUFFS, EARLE HOUSE – NIGHT**

_Windom and Caroline Earle's house is a humble suburban masterpiece located in the Bluffs. Cozy, classy and comfortable, it remains particularly untouched by the advances of modern society. It is painted white with a light blue trim, and intricately crosshatched frames adorn the windows. To the back of the house is a modest herb garden, accompanied by patches of carrot and rutabaga. A duo of giggling young brothers race past the front porch, engaged in playfully competitive antics._

**172\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, DINING ROOM – NIGHT**

_Inside, the house is well-lit and warm. The design is primarily wood, with coral colored carpets lining the floors. The dining room table is a modestly sized oval with a frilly, white lace tablecloth._

_Dale and Windom are rubbing their bellies in stuffed satisfaction after gorging themselves on a glorious meal. Caroline removes the dinner plates from the table, carefully balancing them all in her hands and inner elbows._

DALE:

That goose was miraculous, Mrs. Earle. Simply miraculous.

CAROLINE:

I'm so glad you liked it. And, please, call me Caroline.

_The gentle woman gives Dale a warm smile as she merrily makes her way to the kitchen to clean up. Dale's gaze lingers on her for just a few moments longer than it probably should, and his attention turns back towards Windom, who gestures that they excuse themselves for a respite in the study._

**173\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – NIGHT**

_Windom's private domain is a tribute to culture and aesthetics from all corners of the globe. Mounted upon the walls are early-world maps and atlases, long since outdated, and copies of Baroque period paintings by Frederico Barocci and Rembrandt. Also framed on the wall is an original film poster for "Roman Holiday" with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn._

_The top half of an enormous bookshelf contains tomes of Romantic poetry and English literature, including complete collections of Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, David Keats, Lewis Carroll, Oscar Wilde and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The bottom half stores books on Buddhism, Hinduism, Sikhism, Jainism, Theosophy, Masonry, and a wealth of atlases, encyclopedias and dictionaries. On top of the bookshelf rests a set of small figurines based on Alice in Wonderland characters._

_Off to the side of the room is a Wurlitzer Electrical piano, and hung up on the wall above it is an ancient Japanese Shakuhachi flute. Beside an antique Victrola phonograph cabinet are shelves which house vinyl records. The music collection includes general compilations of classical and world music, with extensive sections devoted to the works of Handel and Bach. The Victrola is currently filling the room with "Dances from Terpsichore" by__Michael Praetorius__, giving the study a refreshing ambiance._

_At the center of the room is a glorious Mahogany and Maple wood table with a slick finish and a handcrafted Chessboard laden into it's surface. The hand-sculpted pieces are made from Ebony and Ivory. This Chess table was clearly not made in the past century, and appears to have originated from Europe. Two red cushioned seats have been prepared on either side, and Windom invites Dale to sit down._

_As he joins his younger comrade, Windom sticks a prized smoking pipe, made from an authentic Calabash gourd, into his mouth. He lights a match and ignites his tobacco-lined pacifier to life, puffing away at it before conversing with Dale._

WINDOM:

Now, tell me, Dale, what do you know about Chess?

DALE:

Well, I know that it is one of the most popular recreational activities in the world, and that it is a strategy game that challenges lateral thinking... How am I doing so far?

WINDOM:

Pretty well. I can tell you haven't played in years... but you have played before.

DALE:

Yes. Me and my dad shared a few games, but not too many.

_Windom blusters like a true pedagogue as he readies the board for his student._

WINDOM:

Chess originated in India, you know, during the Sixth Century Gupta Empire. The original incarnation was more or less the same as it is today, with only a few minor cultural modifications; the Knights were represented by elephants rather than horses, you get the idea. But, it was the Moors who first introduced the game to Europe, where it has since run rampant throughout the globe as a well-enjoyed means of idle amusement. But, at it's heart, it offers so much more than mere recreation...

_Finished with the dishes, Caroline comes into the room wearing a colorful apron with cartoon bunnies patterned on it's front. She dons an adoring smile as Windom makes the Chess speech which she has doubtlessly heard many times throughout their lives together._

WINDOM:

The repeated playing of Chess, and the gradual honing of the skills employed therein, strengthen three vital aspects of the human mind, all of which are invaluable to daily human life, and fundamentally applicable towards being an Agent of the Bureau.

_The board is now assembled, with Windom's side being an experienced black and Dale's being an innocent white._

WINDOM:

You're white, which means you have the opening move.

_Dale thinks for only a moment before pushing one of his pawns forward. Without hesitating, Windom makes his first move, and speaks as he waits for Dale to make his second._

WINDOM:

The first aspect is foresight. The player's mind must be several steps ahead at all times, carefully considering the consequences of every action. In a way, Chess teaches one to foretell the future. Or, at least, to anticipate it.

_Windom pauses to make his second move, and then allows Dale to make his third._

WINDOM:

The second aspect is circumspection, because the player is required to survey the entire Chessboard as a whole, not merely a section at a time, you see? One learns how to relate the pieces to each other and to keep them in check, simultaneously.

_Windom makes his third move. Dale follows with a fourth._

WINDOM:

The third and most important aspect is that of caution. The player learns not to make decisions too hastily, but rather to take one's time and move only when we are assured of ourselves.

_Windom's fourth move takes one of Dale's pieces._

WINDOM:

The natural evolution of a Chess player is to go through a period of doubting oneself. This is entirely healthy and favourable, for once this stage is surpassed, one feels a deeper trust of oneself's decision making skills, and a heightened level of confidence.

_Dale takes one of Windom's pieces, but Windom pays this no mind and moves forward on his fifth move._

WINDOM:

Another healthy aftereffect is that of prudence, or at the very least, the want of it. After all, when it comes to leading a life that is virtuous, the continued pursuit of prudence is far more important than the actual obtainment of it.

_Windom's sixth move takes one of Dale's pieces. Dale takes his time to ponder over the board before making his next move._

WINDOM:

If it were up to me, every new cadet training to become a Special Agent would be required to undergo mandatory Chess practice every week.

_Hesitantly, Dale takes his turn, which removes another of Windom's pieces. As if he was merely waiting for Dale to finish, Windom makes his seventh and final move._

WINDOM:

Checkmate.

_Dale is awed. He looks over the board, checking to make sure that Windom has not made a mistake. But, sure enough, every direction that he would move his King would result in it being taken. Windom lets out a hearty, but good-natured, laugh. Caroline smiles._

WINDOM:

Oh, Dale. Do not despair. I'm afraid I have you at quite a disadvantage. I have played a game of Chess every day of my life for the past six years.

DALE:

I have been thoroughly humbled. It would seem I have much to learn about this game.

WINDOM:

Well, since you mention it... I have a proposal: Seeing as how we will be partners, now, and seeing as it is important that partners bond and trust one another, I suggest that we engage in a game of Chess together once a day. From now until the end of time. What do you say, my friend?

DALE:

I'd say it sounds like we have ourselves a new tradition.

WINDOM:

You will now have no end of opportunities to defeat me.

CAROLINE:

I've never beaten him...

WINDOM:

Best of luck on all of our future confrontations.

_Windom and Dale shake hands, both men optimistic for the challenges which lay ahead._

WINDOM:

And now, if you'll excuse me, my lovely Caroline shall entertain you, while I have something special to prepare in the kitchen.

_Windom and Caroline engage in an endearing ritual where she removes her flamboyantly effeminate cooking apron and adorns Windom with it. With pride, he marches off to the kitchen. Caroline is now alone in the study with Dale. Allowing only a few awkward beats to pass, Dale breaks the ice, very much wanting to converse with this engaging woman._

DALE:

Your husband is a remarkable man.

_Caroline swells with pride._

CAROLINE:

Yes, he is. He's an absolute genius. And, even though he seems stoic and controlled on the outside, underneath it all he holds such a genuine appreciation of romance.

DALE:

My word... Doesn't sound like the rest of us mere mortals have much chance of competing with men like that in the world.

CAROLINE:

Nope. But, if you're lucky, maybe some of him will rub off on you. He's told me he's quite fond of you. He said that you'll make an excellent student.

DALE:

Yes, well, there's so much in this world I'm eager to learn...

_Hit with inspiration, Caroline perks up._

CAROLINE:

Come here. I want to show you something.

_Caroline grabs Dale's sleeve and leads him down the hall._

**174\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_While the study is more suited to Windom's tastes and affinities, the bedroom is clearly a work all of Caroline's. It is warm and gentle, and the walls are papered in lilac. Soft lighting is provided by several lamps and wax candles. A host of pillows, all in creative shapes, collects at the head of the bed, and the thick blankets are valor and muslin._

_On the nightstand are a variety of nicknacks and doodads, but one item holds a place of sacred importance. It is an ancient Music Box in gold and red, shaped like a pentagon. There is a golden wind-up key in it's back. The top section is locked, and the Music Box looks as though it has not been opened in many, many years._

_In the corner of the room, a living being of some sort rustles about. Caroline leads Dale towards a spacious cage that occupies an entire corner of the bedroom. Inside is a white rabbit with misshapen black spots along the soft fur of it's back. She twitches her nose, happy to see the return of her be__love__d mistress. Caroline takes the pet out of her cage and introduces her to Dale._

CAROLINE:

This is Sirite! She's my bunny. Say hello to Dale, Sirite!

_Caroline bobs the rabbit up and down. Dale, unaccustomed to animals, is unsure how to approach her._

DALE:

She's beautiful...

CAROLINE:

We found her abandoned in a maintenance ditch. The veterinarian figured she'd been abused by her previous owners and left to die. But, that's all behind her, now. I dote on her pretty good.

_Caroline brings the rabbit closer to Dale to test it's reaction. She seems comfortable enough with the young man._

CAROLINE:

Oh, she likes you! She's afraid of most men. Probably because of her past. She can't get anywhere near Windom. Do you want to feed her?

_Before Dale has the opportunity to answer, Caroline pulls a carrot out of the decorative feeding box next to Sirite's cage. She hands it to Dale, who gingerly feeds it to the hungry rabbit. The critter takes petite crunches, wriggling her mouth and nose around in delight as she ingests the hearty vegetation._

CAROLINE:

Have you any idea what it's like to rescue someone? To see someone grow and prosper, and know that it's all thanks to you? Nothing in life feels more rewarding.

DALE:

… I envy the feeling.

_A beat passes, and Caroline grows serious._

CAROLINE:

I heard about what happened yesterday... I'm so sorry, Dale. I completely understand what you're going through, because I was there when Windom first had to take a life. Don't mention to him that I told you this, but it was about three months after we were married. There was this madman who was holding a young schoolgirl hostage. He had a shard of glass held up against her throat. Windom kept demanding that he let her go and surrender, but the man wouldn't listen to reason. Windom says that he actually waited until he could hear the first slice of skin being torn before he opened fire. He wanted to give him every last possible second to surrender. The girl was fine, apart from a small nick... but it took Windom months to recover.

_She takes Dale's hand in hers._

CAROLINE:

You saved lives yesterday, including yours and Windom's. Don't ever forget that, and don't let it affect you the way it has my husband...

_Dale is puzzled at that last sentence, but retains a smile as the two take turns petting the little bunny._

**175\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, DINING ROOM – NIGHT**

WINDOM:

Come and get it!

_Windom is dinging a musical triangle, it's chimes signaling that the food is ready. Dale and Caroline reenter the dining room and sit politely at the table. "Kaffee Kantata" by Bach fills the air, and three steaming cups of Joe rest beside each resting plate. Set in the center of the tablecloth is a large metal food platter with a cover in place._

WINDOM:

Another of my hobbies... or perhaps it might be considered a vice... is the art of baking. Are you fond of pie, Dale?

DALE:

You know, I never really had much pie, growing up. My grandmother sort of died in one... and I think that put my parents off of it.

WINDOM:

I consider pie to be the apex of culinary expression. The potential for what lies within those crisp, buttery lattices of dough is an inexhaustible well of possibility. It may be a collection of seasonal berries, it may be thick clots of cream, or it may be prime slices of beef drenched in savoury gravy. In this case, however, I present my pièce de résistance... The florid red, elegantly sweet, and irresistibly tart "Cherry Pie À la Earle".

_Windom removes the cover and unveils a steaming hot, glistening, home-cooked pie. Dale's eyes widen to several times their natural size and he practically begins to salivate. Windom uses his pie cutter to extract an amply-sized piece and puts it on a plate. He then plops a hearty scoop of vanilla ice cream onto the slice's surface, which promptly begins to melt. Windom slides the plate over to Dale._

_His hand shaking with trepidation, Dale takes a fork in hand and dissects a small portion of pie. He brings the steaming, colorful piece of pastry up to his mouth and commences chewing. Once the mass of food has been sufficiently ground into digestible fodder by his molars, Dale swallows. As the substance slides down his moist esophagus, he is frozen in abject ecstasy, unable to move. It's as if his world has been elevated to another plane of existence._

DALE:

Windom...

_Dale puts down his fork and folds his hands, stressing the gravity of the situation._

DALE:

I've almost been burned alive by fireworks, I've spent a year traveling the far East, and I've recently become an Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but this... this is the single most defining moment of my life.

_Windom and Caroline smile knowingly at each other as Dale takes another orgasmic bite of the dessert from Heaven. Moaning replaces all conversation for the duration of the meal._

**176\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES, PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE – DAY**

_A patronizing GERMAN SHRINK __**[Willem Dafoe]**__ is sitting in his comfortable Naugahyde chair, a notepad and pen in hand. He speaks in a thick accent that is laden with pompous insincerity. Dale lays on the patient sofa, as displeased as an unruly child being forced to eat their spinach. His arms are crossed and his eyes rolled. He has clearly determined himself to be uncooperative before even crossing through the doors._

SHRINK:

Now zen, Dale, vhy are you here?

DALE:

As per the standard post-shooting guidelines, I must spend a requisite hour-long session with the Bureau psychiatrist and discuss the incident.

SHRINK:

Vell... Yes. In a manner of shpeaking, dat's true. You _do_ haff to be here. But, don't you sink zat somevere deep inside, you actually _vant_ to be here? Dat you're lookink for somevone to let out your feelinks to? Maybe somevone who's not afraid to give an objective, discernink viewpoint?

DALE:

To be perfectly curt about it, and please do not take offense, but I find myself capable of nothing but loathing towards your entire profession. I consider myself to be an excellent judge of my own psyche, and I am well aware of what is happening inside of my own head. Far more aware of myself, experience has taught me, than your kind tend to be.

SHRINK:

I am sensink some hoshtility in you, Dale. Vhy do you suffer from zis extreme fear of being judged? Vas your fazher overly critical, I vonder?

DALE:

My father has supported me in everything I've done with my life, thank you very much.

SHRINK:

Und vat about your mozher? Vere you two close?

DALE:

Yes, of course. We were... very close. I'd prefer if we didn't talk about her, if you don't mind.

SHRINK:

I sense hesitation... I vonder if you vere jealous of ze attention your fazher gave her? Maybe you found yourself vishing she vould give more of herself to you...

_Dale sits up in his seat, the blood boiling within his veins._

DALE:

I'm warning you civilly now, sir. Not one word about my mother.

SHRINK:

Haff you ever found yourself entertaining... sexual... thoughts about her?

_Dale stands up and opens his mouth._

**177\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_Dale is seated at his desk, surrounded by claustrophobic volumes of paperwork. He signs documents and flips through papers, his mind not really assigned to the monotonous tasks at hand. After a lengthy sigh, followed by a relieving eye rub, he pauses to speak into his tape recorder. _

DALE:

I find myself assigned to desk duty with no hope of escape in the immediate future. It may have been a mistake to suggest to the psychiatrist that he stop projecting his own insecurities upon other people, and deal with the perverted, wretched time bomb of self-destruction he has become... It may have further been a lack of foresight to strike him across the jaw. But, Diane... those shrinks really get my dander up.

**178\. INT. DARIO'S DOUGHNUTS – DAY**

_Dale Cooper is making a pit stop at the family-owned doughnut shop underneath his apartment. The counter houses a glass cabinet which showcases the day's freshly baked supply. DARIO __**[Robert Costanzo]**__ is a flabby, balding Italian-American who wears a sweat-stained under shirt, which does nothing to conceal his generous supply of body hair. Pleased to see the return of his favorite regular customer, he raises his thick arms into the air, revealing encrusted underarm stains, and pipes out his thick accent through a squeaky voice._

DARIO:

Eyyy! Special Agent Cooper! Da usual?

DALE:

Oh, no, no, no. Already ate dinner, I'm afraid. So... just the half-dozen for me tonight.

DARIO:

Forget about it, cousin! You got it! Wanna mix n' match?

DALE:

Nah. Surprise me.

DARIO:

Phew. You sure do like to live on the edge!

**179\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – NIGHT**

_Windom is comfortably sitting back in his luxurious purple velvet reading chair, robed in a maroon colored smoking jacket, his feet clothed in warm slippers and resting atop an ottoman. He reads from "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" by Lord Byron. "The Scottish Symphony" by Felix Mendelssohn fills the room, softly piping from his record player. He smokes from his Calabash pipe as he basks in romanticism._

_Caroline rounds the corner from the bathroom and leans against the wall as she gazes with fervid attraction at her husband. She wears a white, silk negligee that is partially see-through. She says nothing to catch his attention, taking the opportunity to spy on him from afar without his knowledge, her lust and desire building up within. Windom, who's mind has been buried in his literature, realizes he is being watched and slowly looks up. Upon seeing the radiant form of his wife before him, he lowers his book and whispers..._

WINDOM:

"Was it a vision... or a waking dream?

Fled is that music... Do I wake or sleep?"

_Caroline admits nothing with her voice, but confesses everything with her eyes. Windom stands upright, dropping the book onto his ottoman. He slowly marches to her and wraps his arm around her waist. His body is strong and his stride is forceful, yet his touch is soft and gentle. He holds her as if she were a brittle relic... a treasure which he cherishes far above any of the esoteric marvels the otherwise occupy the room. With a graceful silence, the two disappear into their bedroom._

**180\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Sirite has been left alone in her cage for a few hours and is pleased to see company. She wiggles her nose favorably as Windom and Caroline fall backwards onto the bed, arms entwined around one another. Windom removes his slippers and jacket, but Caroline keeps her barely existent dress on. Windom moves his lips to her ear and whispers, his warm breath activating the sensitive nerves in her inner canal._

WINDOM:

You are my constant. My muse. Everything I do... I do knowing you are with me.

_Caroline spreads her arms and legs across the comforter as if she were a snow Angel. Windom lifts up her dress and places his warm, coarse hand on her smooth belly. Slowly, elegantly, he moves his fingers in semi-circles around her torso. He maintains a constant pattern, and the bouts of Caroline's arousal are dictated by his rhythm. His own rise stems entirely from the telling smile adorning her lips._

_Windom changes the pattern and moves his fingers in different directions. Caroline cannot remain still, the intensity of her pleasure too much to to take. Windom lessens the strength of his touch more and more, until he is barely even grazing her flesh. The softer he touches her, the more wildly she seems to respond. Her breathing goes heavier as his touch lessens. Caroline grabs his hand to pause him and whispers._

CAROLINE:

No one can move me like you can.

_She positions his hand below her waist and Windom obliges to bring her to ecstasy. We can no longer see them as we close in on the rabbit cage, but we can hear Caroline's moans and barely make out the couple's reflection in Sirite's black eyes._

**181\. INT. PSYCHIATRIST'S HOUSE – NIGHT**

_The kitchen is dark and bleak. The lights are all turned off and we can hear the hissing of gas being released. The German Shrink is dressed up in a pink angora sweater, tight mini-skirt, beehive wig, make-up and lipstick. His five o'clock shadow, however, is unshaven. He is sobbing in self-loathing as he turns the gas nozzle all the way up, opens the oven and crawls inside._

**182\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – DAY**

_Dale looks like an automaton as he expressionlessly fills out paperwork for the umpteenth day in a row. Windom walks up behind him and drops a disciplinary mandate on the table._

WINDOM:

That shrink which you accused of being unstable in such an "out of line" manner... He attempted suicide last night. You're back on active duty, Dale.

_Dale looks over the paper in disbelief and then smiles up at his mentor and friend._

WINDOM:

Suit up and let's get to work, partner.

_Windom flashes a comradely wink as he walks away. Dale looks upon his partner with unyielding respect, convinced that the time they will spend working together will mold him into the Agent he's always wanted to be. We fade to black and hold..._

**183\. EXT. BREAK O' DAWN CLUB – NIGHT**

CAPTION:

February 2nd, 1984

_In an unscrupulous district of Pittsburgh, crammed within the shadowy nooks of an alleyway between two derelict buildings, is a seedy, disreputable hooch parlor. A heavy rain sizzles as it makes contact with the gaudy neon glow of the signage erected just above the doorway, reading "Break O' Dawn Club". Beneath the establishment's title is a glowing green shamrock clover. Guarding the doorway from any uninvited loiterers is a well-muscled bodyguard, a pair of brass knuckles crammed over his stubby fingers._

**184\. INT. BREAK O' DAWN CLUB – NIGHT**

_This covert establishment, a harken back to the prohibition era, is faintly lit only from an overhead chandelier. A scantily-clad woman in a red and white burlesque neglige dances dizzily on a splintery stage, stumbling from alcohol consumption. Her wobbly dance movements are crude and uncoordinated. At the piano, playing an atmospheric ragtime ditty, is a doddering old man. Wild tufts of ashy beard cover the lower half of his face, and a deep claw mark is torn across his left eye, the resealed flesh forever forcing his lid eternally shut._

_Besides the glowering BARTENDER, and a few working girls lingering about, the establishment is otherwise vacant of clientele, with the exception of a rounded card table set up in the middle of the club. Four men sit around the table, playing high-stakes Blackjack, and a house dealer stands with his back to the bar._

_Looking the most prestigious of the group is MR. BECKETT __**[W. Morgan Sheppard]**__, the owner of the parlor. His smug grin exposes misshapen teeth, whose color matches his off-white goatee. He wears a luxurious black and red suit, paid for with blood money, and around his fourth finger is an extravagant ruby ring that juts outward from his hand several centimeters._

_To Beckett's left are two goons, both dressed in nondescript monkey suits and wide-brimmed hats, also playing in the game. Across the table from Beckett is Special Agent Dale Cooper, dressed undercover in a slick tuxedo and thickly-framed glasses. His posture is stooped more than usual, and his expression carries an artificially hardened edge. With a satisfactory gleam, Dale places his cards on the table._

DALE:

Twenty-one. Can you beat that?

_Dale helps himself to his portion of the pot, adding to his rapidly accumulating winnings pile. The two other players grumble, but Beckett grins assuredly, exhaling a billow of noxious smoke from his imported stogy._

BECKETT:

You sure are a real Abercrombie, aren't you, Mr. Felix? That's your third winning hand in a row. Why didn't you warn me that I was dealing with a veteran card sharp?

_Dale grins._

DALE:

Because I'm not. Just a circumstantial streak of luck tonight, that's all.

_Never allowing his stare to avert, Beckett issues a grunt of approval through his leathery voice._

BECKETT:

Mm. This calls for another round! Something special this time, I should think.

_Beckett snaps his fingers with a twinkle in his eye._

BECKETT:

Frank. Fix us a Terminus, would you?

DALE:

Oh, another Rum and Coke will do me.

_Calmly, Dale's host shakes his head in disagreement, his pupils remaining solidly fixed._

BECKETT:

Beckett insists.

_The bartender slides a round of clear-colored shots to the four men seated at the table. Dale takes a sniff of the spirit._

DALE:

Absinthe?

BECKETT:

You're Goddamn right, it is. And not the diluted swill you can find in other joints. This is the real McCoy, made from only the finest Wormwood.

_Dale fakes a sizable swallow from the illegal drink, but really only partakes of a small sip. The other three men down their shots, and the dealer issues another hand._

DALE:

Damn good, Mr. Beckett. Damn good.

_Mr. Beckett brings his oversized ruby ring to his mouth and partakes of a lascivious suckle._

BECKETT:

Just like mammy's licorice.

_With a mischievous grin, Dale begins a new line of chatter..._

DALE:

I've heard that... illicit substances are not the only thing you specialize in...

_Beckett taps on the table for another card and smugly puffs on his cigar._

BECKETT:

Beckett specializes in many things. What is it you're in the market for?

_Dale swallows with a hint of nervousness._

DALE:

Female companionship.

_Mr. Beckett nods his head around the room, indicating the few working girls wandering about._

BECKETT:

See something you like? Any of these ladies can be yours, for a small fee.

_Dale gives a glance to the burlesque dancer staggering cumbersomely on stage without any interest._

DALE:

They aren't exactly my type. I'm a man of discerning tastes.

_Beckett fixates his piercing stare upon Dale once more._

BECKETT:

Alright, Mr. Connoisseur. Just what brand of flower _is_ your fancy?

_Dale responds hesitantly._

DALE:

I'm looking for something a little... younger.

BECKETT:

Heh. Then I suggest you stake out the local high school.

_Beckett and the goons share a laugh. Dale meets Beckett with an equally penetrating stare._

DALE:

I want to visit "Beckett's Playroom".

_Both the goons immediately put their hands inside their jacket, readying their concealed weapons. Beckett scrutinizes Dale with suspicion, but the Agent maintains his coolness._

DALE:

It's okay. Ken sent me.

_Beckett contemplates this name-dropping with skepticism, but finally gestures for his goons to relax._

BECKETT:

Ken needs to be more cautious with his advertising.

DALE:

I'm a highly motivated buyer.

BECKETT:

I'm sorry, but it's out of the question. I have certain... prestigious clientele already on the waiting queue. And one of my regulars is paying top dollar to be the first in line.

DALE:

What's top dollar?

BECKETT:

$100,000.

_Dale slaps a hefty wad of money onto the table._

DALE:

$500,000. And the acquisition of a new regular customer.

_Beckett eyes the currency, consumed by salacious greed. Dale smirks over his upper-hand._

DALE:

Should make up for what I've earned off of you boys in tonight's game.

BECKETT:

I can arrange for you to be second in line. Perhaps on Thursday?

_Dale firmly shakes his head._

DALE:

I want her untouched, or this offer leaves the table.

_Beckett whispers something to his goons._

BECKETT:

Alright. When do you want her?

DALE:

Right now. Today. I'm feeling impetuous.

_Beckett slowly nods._

BECKETT:

Alright. Give me a few minutes to get her ready.

DALE:

You mean she's here?

_The piano music stops, leaving the room in silence._

BECKETT:

She's right downstairs. I keep my little girls hidden in plain sight.

DALE:

That's all I wanted to know.

_A click breaks the silence. Beckett clams up as he feels the barrel of a cocked gun go against the back of his head. Standing behind him, pressing the Glock against his skull, is the elderly piano player. Masterfully disguised under the beard and scar is Special Agent Windom Earle. The two goons begin to pull out their guns when Earle barks an order._

WINDOM:

Lay them on the table, boys, or your boss gets it right between the eyes!

BECKETT:

For God's sake, do what he says!

_The goons lay their guns on their cards, and Windom proceeds to cuff Beckett. He nods to Dale without a word. With a startling cocking, the bartender aims a shotgun to Windom's back, stopping him mid-movement._

BARTENDER:

Thought you were pretty clever, didn't ya? Drop your piece or I'll plug you like a bathtub.

_A lone shot fires out, resulting in an airborne splatter of blood and bile from the chest of the bartender, sending him reeling backwards into the well-drinks and plummeting to the floor. Standing up on the stage, her aim perfect and true, is the undercover back-up disguised as the intoxicated floozy. She nods towards Windom, who in turn nods towards Cooper. Dale takes one of the guns off of the table and gestures towards the goon on the left._

DALE:

You. Take me downstairs.

**185\. EXT. BREAK O' DAWN CLUB – NIGHT**

_The rain has subsided, and the pavement, slick from it's recent wash, glistens in the nightlight. A ten year old girl, sobbing from both __fear__ and relief, is reunited with her __lovi__ng parents after having been kidnapped._

_Police are leading Beckett and his goons into a secure cruiser. Windom, having removed his beard and most of his prosthetic scar make-up, approaches Dale, who is still reeling from the high of the experience. Cooper exhibits a large sum of money to his partner._

DALE:

My winnings. I managed to bring back a 30% increase on what the Bureau supplied us with.

_Windom takes the hefty wad of currency, evidently impressed._

WINDOM:

You are just full of surprises, aren't you, Dale?

_Cooper looks on at the young girl, safely held in her father's arms. For a moment, she looks meets Dale's stare. The gratitude shining from her eyes send the chills of an overwhelming euphoria running through Dale's body. Windom pats his young partner on the shoulder._

WINDOM:

Welcome to the club that everyone wants to be a part of. You done good, kid.

**186\. INT. DALE'S PITTSBURGH APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_The modest floorspace of Dale's Pittsburgh apartment is immaculately maintained and organized. Dale has taken the attuning of his Fung Shui very seriously. His clothes are either folded neatly in perfect stacks or hung in the closet. The posters of J. Edgar Hoover, Jimmy Stewart and Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. hang on the wall above Dale's dresser. A curious glass pyramid, the memento from a childhood __love__r, hangs from the ceiling by a string directly over Dale's pillow. The regularly dusted wooden floor has a Yoga mat laid out on it, beside the window. Incense candles have recently been extinguished, their smoke still dissipating and scent still lingering._

_Slightly forlorn, cautiously optimistic, and thoroughly exhausted, Dale Cooper is turning down his bed for sleep. He wears his favorite pair of full-bodied pajamas, coating his slender form in a gaudy bright red. He pulls down his thin blankets, crawls into bed and switches off the lamp. Snuggling up against the pillow, not minding the layers of product still in his hair, he quickly fades to sleep._

_We cut between him tossing and turning in different positions as his subconscious thoughts run wild. A deep, low hum gradually builds up higher and higher, the ambient noise coming from some indeterminable source. Energy begins collecting inside the light-bulb of the lamp next to his bed. The light glows brighter and brighter, Electricity surging though the circuits at dangerous levels, until the bulb pops and shatters, sprinkling shards of glass onto the floor. Abruptly, all light in the room disappears and a circle of bright white light surrounds Dale's sleeping body._

**187\. INT. THE RED ROOM – TIMELESS**

CAPTION:

12 Years Later...

_Dale Cooper is seated in a dark chair within the Red Room. The marble floor is painted with black and white zig-zags, and all four walls are nothing but long, red drapes that hang from the ceiling. Music is in the air. Dale looks down at himself and notices that he is wearing his black suit and tie. On his finger, as always, is the Golden Ring from his mother. In his hand is a cup of coffee, though he is unsure of how it got there. Dale sets it on the table next to him beside a lamp shaped like Saturn._

_Dale is not alone in the room, and seated across from him in a green chair is THE AMPUTEE. He is a legless man dressed in a sharp green suit. His trousers are cut off at the stumps below his waist, which are tightened off by layers of gauze, red blood visibly seeping through and slowly dripping onto the floor. Dale does not feel shock or horror from the sight of him, just confusion._

_ The Amputee only looks at Dale, and Dale just looks back. Neither man says anything, satisfied merely by studying one another like curiosities. Behind one of the curtains we can make out what looks like a vaguely bird-shaped shadow that slowly floats past._

_Without any context, the Amputee begins laughing loudly and feverishly. The joviality is inappropriately long and seemingly at Dale's expense. The laugh sounds strange, too, as if it is somehow backwards. Dale only squints as he waits for the Amputee to finish. Finally satisfied, the Amputee becomes still, and his expression grows very serious._

AMPUTEE:

You cannot run. "It" is right behind you, and is sure to kill.

_The Amputee has said this in a backwards voice, and now remains silent and unmoving. Dale is very confused, and speaks. His own words come out normally._

DALE:

What is "It"? How do I stop "It"?

_The Amputee just shakes his head._

AMPUTEE:

All you can do is sit back and enjoy the music.

_The Amputee laughs again and everything goes black. An eerie strobe effect comes from an unknown source, fluctuating the room between blinding brightness and impenetrable blackness. A giant wall of flame erupts from behind the Amputee. This is so explosively loud that Dale jumps up and crawls over the back of his chair._

_As the Amputee continues to laugh, four frightening figures emerge from out of the fire. KILLER BOB __**[Frank Silva]**__,__ the Gas Man, Killer Jack, and the Dark Man all step forward in unison. Each being is as threatening and imposing as the last. Dale backs away, never feeling so vulnerable before in his entire life. Even though this is a dream, it feels as real as anything he has ever known. Before any of the macabre spirits can advance, the Dark Man issues an ultimatum to his colleagues in the same backwards manner in which the Amputee spoke._

DARK MAN:

I stake my claim. This one is off limits to you. My declaration has been heard.

_The Gas Man and Killer Jack do not seem to mind and step back, but Killer Bob remains jealous and entitled. The Dark Man holds his ground as Bob steps forward, the two staring each other down. While these dangerous apparitions seem to be distracted, Dale turns around and runs away. He pushes the nearest curtain aside and steps through it into another room to the West._

_ The second room looks identical to the first, except it is devoid of any furniture. Laying in the center of the floor is ANNIE BLACKBURN __**[Heather Graham]**__, a beautiful woman with curly red hair. She is dressed in a tacky purple woolen sweater with a picture of an elk, which is ripped and tattered. Her eyes are blackened, and her body bruised and abused. She is spread out in an "x" shape, each of her limbs entangled in rusty chains which run the length of the room into every opposite corner. She struggles against them with all her might, but cannot free herself. Even though Dale does not yet know who this woman is, he is immediately concerned for her well-being. She pleads with him through her pain, her voice backwards and distorted as well._

ANNIE:

Dale! You've already rescued me twice! How many times do you think you can save me? Eventually, I must die!

_Dale leans down to try and loosen her. The chains seem to be slowly stretching her in all four direction, and she is bleeding profusely from out of her mouth. Dale is unable to make any impact on the dense chains, and the poor woman's torture continues, unabated._

_Dale is startled to see Killer Bob burst through the curtain to the North of him. He's dressed all in dirty, tattered denim, his long, greasy gray hair falling over his face in oily strands. He eyes Dale up and down with a ravenous and lustful appetite. On her knees to his left is LAURA PALMER __**[Sheryl Lee]**__, a blonde haired teenager with a soft face and desperate eyes. Bob is holding her roughly by the hair, pulling it nearly out by the roots. Unable to get away, she emits a blood-curdling scream that Dale can feel reverberating down to his very soul. On Killer Bob's right is LELAND PALMER __**[Ray Wise]**__, a handsome man with a large forehead and strong nose. He sobs a mess of tears down his face._

LELAND:

It wasn't me! I would never hurt her! I didn't kill anybody!

_As Dale is astounded by the spectacle before him, his attention is diverted to the curtains on the other side of the room, to the South. There stands the Dark Man, who is giving Dale an equally hungry and blood-thirsty look. He wears a black and red Medieval Tudor costume, complete with frilly sleeves, a white ruffled collar, and a codpiece. The man is pasty, shriveled and malnourished, looking as through he'd suffered from the Black Plague. On her knees to his right is Caroline, who's neck is caught in his vicious, vice-like grasp. Standing behind the Dark Man is Windom Earle, who looks heartbroken and defeated._

DALE:

Caroline!

WINDOM:

I am your friend, Dale. Always and forever. Don't give up on me. I will hold out hope for you. As long as it takes.

_The Dark Man throws his hand back only once and Windom erupts into flames. The Dark Man yells once again, but it is more barbaric than before. He is not speaking to Dale, but calling across the room to Killer Bob._

DARK MAN:

My stake is claimed! It is law! You cannot steal my corn!

_Dale looks back towards Killer Bob, but is surprised to see that Laura's hair has changed to black. Actually, it is MADDY FERGUSON __**[Sheryl Lee]**__, in the exact same position that Laura was previously being held. Leland cries even harder behind her._

MADDY:

I'm not Laura. I'm her cousin.

LELAND:

I am the perpetrator of my own misery.

_Dale looks back to the Dark Man, equally surprised to see that Caroline has been replaced by Annie, whom the Dark Man is holding by the neck._

ANNIE:

Don't be fooled, Dale. Even perfect balance cannot save me now.

_To Dale's horror, he looks back to the ground and sees that it is now Caroline who is chained up. The chains are pulling her more and more taut, and bubbles of blood gurgle out of her mouth._

CAROLINE:

You fail us all, Dale. What is there left to fight for if we're all gone?

_She chokes on her blood as she talks. Dale stands up, unable to comprehend all that he is seeing. He looks to the West, and he sees Windom Earle and JOSIE PACKARD __**[Joan Chen]**__, a scrawny Chinese woman with short hair and bright red lips.__ The two are holding each other and shivering in manic __fear__._

JOSIE:

We are still waiting for you! Don't forget about us!

WINDOM:

After all I tried to do for you, you can't leave me behind!

JOSIE:

I'm sorry I hurt you! I needed to get away! I needed to run!

_Dale looks back to the East, towards the way he came from. The curtain opens up and two tiny __Capuchin __Monkeys crawl out. Their heads tilt from side to side as they examine him. The strobe light effect happens once more, and the room goes light to dark. Squinting hard towards the Monkeys through the flashes, he can sees that two men have taken their places. One is JOHN JUSTICE WHEELER __**[Billy Zane]**__, a handsome young man with honest eyes and a determined face.__ The other man beside him is Phillip Jeffries, looking far more jaded and haggard than when we last saw him. Meeting Dale's gaze, they both put their fingers to their mouths in a shushing gesture. As the strobe effect ceases, and the room returns to normal, the Monkeys are back in their places._

_Dale looks to the South once more towards the Dark Man, but instead he sees Windom Earle. This Windom looks different, though. He is older, his gray hair is a tangled mess, and his face is coated in stubble. His stance is more hunched, his clothes disheveled and slept in, and his eyes are lifeless and cold. In fact, he has no pupils, just soulless orbs of white. His smile is cruel and malevolent._

_Dale looks to the North of him towards Killer Bob, and is mortified to find another Dale Cooper looking back! But, this version of himself also has white, lifeless eyes and a cruel smile. The other Cooper cranes his head from side to side like a predatory animal. Both white-eyed Agents square off into attacking stances from opposite sides of the room and charge towards Dale. He looks down once more at the dying Caroline, helpless to do anything, and runs away through the curtain to the West. Faster paced, bouncing jazz music plays as the two evil, black suited FBI Agents follow closely behind Dale, running as quickly as a pair of wolves._

_As they give chase, the Little Man crawls out from under the Eastern curtain leading to the first room. He gets to his feet and begins to feel the music. He snaps his little fingers and dances around the room. Dale and his two demonic pursuers run to and fro behind him, darting in and out of curtains. The Little Man callously steps over Caroline, her limbs being stretched towards breaking point, as the smooth music dictates his rhythm._

_Dale is loosing his breath and slowing from a side ache as he pushes his stamina and tries to continue running. He enters a small hallway between rooms that houses an armless stone statue. He tries in vain to reach the room he began from with the Amputee as the two deadly pursuers come ever closer. Suddenly, just as one of the Agents nearly touch his shoulder, one final flash of light heralds the end of the dream..._

**188\. INT. DALE'S PITTSBURGH APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_The alarm clock on his nightstand chimes to life, waking Dale violently from his experience. He reflexively punches the clock onto the ground, shattering it into several pieces that slide across the smooth, clean floor, joining the shards of broken light bulb. Sweat pours from his forehead and his breathing is erratic. Dale sits up in his bed, the left side of his hair sticking perfectly upright from being slept on. He checks his pulse and waits for his breathing to regulate, select images of his vision printed indelibly onto his mind's eye..._

**189\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – DAY**

_Dale Cooper and Windom Earle are engaged in another of their daily game of Chess. Once more, they are comfortably sitting in Windom's gorgeous study. "Goldberg Variations" by Johann Sebastian Bach pipes refreshingly from out of the Victrola. The two partners make several moves in silence before Dale speaks._

DALE:

What do you know about dreams, Windom?

_Windom makes his move, then pauses to reflect._

WINDOM:

"Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem

Things more true and deep

Than we mortal dream,

Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?"

_Dale furrows his brow in perplexity. Windom notices and, after making his Chess move, responds._

WINDOM:

Ah, dreams... Those curious visions which have eluded mankind's understanding, yet triggered it's curiosity since the beginning of recorded history. Long before literature or historical records, the ancient Mesopotamians hand-scribed depictions of dreams onto clay tablets in a feeble attempt to interpret their meanings.

_Dale slides a piece along the Chessboard._

WINDOM:

Do you know where dreams come from?

DALE:

No, I don't.

WINDOM:

Acetycholine neurons fire high voltage impulses into the fore-brain, like bolts of lightening. These Electric impulses form pictures, which in turn become dreams.

DALE:

Then, it's purely biological?

WINDOM:

Perhaps. And, yet... no field of study has ever been able to answer the most obvious question: Why do we see _these_ particular pictures?

_Windom moves a Chess piece forward._

WINDOM:

Back in days of antiquity, the most popular conclusion was that these pictures were messages sent directly from the Gods, or possibly horrific demons, and that they often depicted omens of the future.

_As Dale advances a piece, Windom eyes his partner, concernedly._

WINDOM:

Why do you ask, Dale?

_Dale takes a deep breath, hoping to be taken seriously by his most respected confidant._

DALE:

Last night I had a dream that I believe to have been more than random synapses discharging Electrodes into my subconscious. It felt more real than anything I've ever experienced in my life... but I've been struggling to decode it's meaning.

_Dale listens to Windom's response as he makes his next move._

WINDOM:

It is fairly common for people to experience lucid dreams that seem so real, as almost indistinguishable from reality. In fact, many solipsist philosophers such as Descartes, or Zhuangzi in Fourth Century China, remained sceptical that any one of us could thoroughly prove that this waking life we experience is any more or less real than the worlds we visit in our dreams. In fact, it has been said that our thinking, perceiving brain is the one true thing in reality that we can prove exists at all. I've never experienced one of these dreams that might be distinguished as a "vision", but I am not adamantly opposed to the notion. One of my former partners, in fact, studies dream states very seriously as a metaphysical construct.

DALE:

I've had a history of fairly strong dreams throughout my life. Occasionally, I feel as though someone or something is trying to communicate with me through them. Does that sound foolish?

_Windom moves a Chess piece._

WINDOM:

Far-fetched, perhaps, but not foolish. Many indigenous tribal religions from the Americas believe that the dead speak to us through our dreams. That our ancestors can give us advice, or scorn us when we've failed them.

DALE:

The week after my mother died, I saw her in a vision. I can still remember her floating at the edge of my bed. And, I'm sure it was real because she gave –

_Dale cuts himself off, remembering the promise he made to her to keep the Golden Ring's origins a secret. Windom waits, expectantly._

DALE:

… Or maybe I just imagined it. She'd passed away only recently, and I was very young.

_Genuine concern for his friend prompts Windom to push his inquisitions into uncomfortable territory._

WINDOM:

It's not my intention to pry... but if you need to unburden yourself with whatever's weighing on your mind, you know that you can trust me with anything...

_Dale considers this offer as he makes his next move._

DALE:

You know... my dream last night was so vivid when I had just awoken... but much of it has since faded... I can remember seeing many people I didn't recognize, and they appeared to be in a great deal of pain... I know you and Caroline were there. And, I can recall... a man with no legs. He was laughing at me... He told me that "It" was behind me, planning to kill, and that I could not run. But, I remember running... I was being chased by someone... And, I remember that room... It was a Red Room...

_Windom's heart stops, his attention suddenly drawn with deep interest. His eyes widen and his jaw lowers ever so slightly._

DALE:

The floor was a black and white tiling, and long red drapes hung from the ceiling. And, there was music in the air...

_As Dale looks up, Windom quickly hides his shock behind a nonchalant facade._

WINDOM:

Sounds colourful, that's for certain. Still, I wouldn't worry too much about it. Whatever their origin, be it chemical redistribution or otherworldly transmissions, dreams are essentially harmless. Their abilities are limited to showing you visions. How you react to those visions is up to you. They can only show you a path on which to follow... The next move is yours.

_Windom makes his next move on the board._

WINDOM:

Check.

**190\. EXT. THE PINK PUSS – NIGHT**

_The filthy gravel of the parking lot is wet from recent rainfall. We hold on a particularly oily puddle, cigarette butts floating along it's top like discarded corpses. The pink from the neon sign overhead reflects upon it's surface until a tall leather boot stomps into the small pool, the ripples distorting the image._

_We pan up to see that the booted foot belongs to Helper. He is no longer dressed in robes, but instead wearing civilian clothes. However, he is anything but inconspicuous. His skin-tight silver pants are covered in glittery sparkles and his black military jacket looks like a hold-over from the American Civil War. He is drinking from a PBR beer bottle, hooting loudly as he staggers into the establishment._

_The ramp up to the Pink Puss is being patrolled by a muscular bouncer. The neon sign shows a woman's pelvis, the genitals replaced by a pink cartoon feline, suggestively extending it's tongue outward. After Helper has gone inside, Special Agent Phillip Jeffries emerges from around the corner, wearing a trench coat pulled up high. He's been tailing Helper._

**191\. INT. THE PINK PUSS – NIGHT**

_Loud, trashy rock music is blasting inside the strip club. The lighting is pink and blue, and an ill-conceived black light reveals far too many stains on the floor and walls. Topless waitresses and working girls wander around, wrapping their arms around lonely men desperate for company._

_Helper is already leaning at the edge of the stage. Beside him is Archibald Battis, wearing a loose fitting polo shirt and jeans. They are laughing together and enjoying the show before them. A Black woman with long legs and pouty lips is on the stage. She bends over as far as she can, accentuating the curvaceousness of her backside. From between her legs, she looks at the men watching and winks at them. The two Dugpas howl favorably at this._

_Phillip Jeffries discreetly enters through the front door. He surveys the room, taking note of his quarry, and then meanders towards the back corner of the building. He sits in the shadows, the black light giving the illusion that his eyes and teeth have been painted white. A man in thickly framed bifocals, a handlebar mustache, and a deerstalker hat is sitting in the corner beside him. It is Windom Earle, in an elaborate disguise._

WINDOM:

What took you so long?

JEFFRIES:

Helper has the bladder of a hedgehog. We made a lot of pit stops.

WINDOM:

Look at the two of them... cavorting about in hedonistic excess... They think this is just a game, don't they? They've no idea of the forces at play, do they?

JEFFRIES:

They know all too well. But, greed blinds men to sense, Windom.

_Windom nods in agreement. Both Agents are observing the joyful titillation exhibited by the off-duty druids from afar. The stripper on the stage has wrapped her long legs around the pole and is crawling her way towards the ceiling, upside down._

WINDOM:

Well, those two misanthropes should be distracted for while, at any rate. We need to talk. Something occurred the night before last... and I don't know what to make of it.

JEFFRIES:

What happened?

WINDOM:

You remember that new Agent in my office I've told you about?

JEFFRIES:

The young one that you're playing Chess with? What was his name, again?

WINDOM:

Cooper. Listen... he told me about a dream he had the other night, where he visited a room with long... red... drapes.

_Phillip's eyes spring open in instant recognition of this description._

WINDOM:

Phillip... He described the Red Room! Perfectly! His description was _identical_ to that of the Drukpa Kargyu manuscript, right down to the black and white floor pattern!

JEFFRIES:

Did you tell him anything about it beforehand?

WINDOM:

No, no! He didn't even know what he was describing to me!

JEFFRIES:

What happened in his dream?

WINDOM:

He couldn't recall every detail, but I dictated what he said. There was a man with no –

_They clam up as a STRIPPER approaches them. She eyes Windom, moving in to stroke him, playfully, under the chin._

STRIPPER:

Hello, there, handsome. I like mustaches. I like the way they tickle my tongue. What do you like?

WINDOM:

Thank you for asking, my dear. But I came here to look, not to touch.

STRIPPER:

Tsk. Fucking cheapskate!

_The stripper's flirtatious attitude instantaneously disappears, and she rushes off to find another single man. Windom sighs and continues reviewing his dictation of Dale's dream. We pull away and return to watching the two rowdy men. The stripper has extended her leg into the crowd, and Helper strokes it while Battis slips some bills into her g-string._

**192\. INT. PARK'S DRY CLEANING – DAY**

CAPTION:

July 4th, 1985

_The interior of the dry cleaner's is sweaty, stale and claustrophobic. For the Korean immigrants who own it, it is not the symbolic shrine to American opportunity they had hoped to construct. Rather, it is their own personal prison devoted to back-breaking, thankless labor. The backdrop of shirts and trousers hanging from automated clotheslines is like a forest of a mass-produced cotton._

_MR. PARK, the owner of the store, is at the register. His wife and two daughters are busily ironing and hand-drying behind him, smears of black grease staining their otherwise soft, pale faces. The little bell above the front door jingles as LOUIS DANTE __**[Robert Loggia]**__ enters. He is a smug, imposing bald man with a wrinkly, bird-like face and a voice so gravely, it sounds as if he gargles with rocks. The smile he wears as he enters implies that nothing friendly is likely to follow._

LOUIS:

I must say, I didn't expect to make another house-call this month. How are you doing these days, Mr. Park? Everything going well, I hope?

_Mr. Park is wary of answering, but forces himself to do so, anyways. The three women in the back of the shop are too petrified to move._

PARK:

We are okay. Business is okay.

_Louis feigns a miss-communication._

LOUIS:

"Okay"? Business is "okay"? What does that mean?

_Louis pantomimes an over-exaggerated shrug. Mr. Park remains in uncomfortable silence_

LOUIS:

I came by here because I thought something must have gone horribly wrong. I assume you have no money, right? That's why you're behind on your payments?

PARK:

No. No. We have money.

LOUIS:

Oh, so you _do_ have it? Okay. Then... why am I here? Why did I have to come all the way out here if you _do_ have the money? Why haven't we already received it?

PARK:

I'm sorry. I have been... I will give you the money now.

LOUIS:

I don't want you to give it to me _now_. I want you to have _already_ wired it. We got no money in the mail, and that makes us very unhappy. We did receive your message, though.

PARK:

Message?

LOUIS:

Yeah. You're message that you're getting cold. Are you feeling cold?

_Mr. Park swallows, uneasily. Louis slowly approaches him as he speaks._

LOUIS:

You must be feeling pretty fucking cold if you want us to turn up the heat in this place. You know the kind of heat I'm talking about?

_Louis looms over Mr. Park, projecting indisputable dominance._

LOUIS:

If you want me to turn up the heat in this place, that's not a problem. But, it ain't a heat you're gonna be walking away from. So, tell me... are you feeling cold?

_Mr. Park meets Louis' stare, trying to retain what little remains of his pride._

PARK:

No. I'm not cold.

LOUIS:

You sure? Not even chilly?

PARK:

No. Not even chilly.

LOUIS:

Then, where's my fucking money?

_Mr. Park reluctantly pushes a button on the cash register and it's drawer slides out with a ding. He practically empties it with that month's "insurance fee". Louis quickly flicks through the wad of bills, counting them, and stuffs the money inside his jacket pocket. He looks over the poor man with piercing eyes, still not satisfied with their business transaction. He issues a further command._

LOUIS:

Take off your wedding ring.

_Mr. Park hesitates, but Louis' stare does not lessen. Mr. Park stumbles to remove the ring from his sweaty fingers and hands it over. Louis holds the simple golden ring in the center of his palm. Inscribed into the gold, it reads_ _"_언제나 그리고 영원히_"__._

_Louis approaches one of the young Korean daughters working in the back of the store. At first, she flinches, but he holds out his hands in a calming gesture, softly shushing her. He puts on a smile and speaks down to her in a condescending, but cheerful voice._

LOUIS:

Hello, there, sweetie. I'm Uncle Louie. How are you? You speak English, right?

_The terrified young girl nods, her eyes unblinking and her mouth hanging open. Louis holds out the ring to her._

LOUIS:

I was hoping you wouldn't mind holding this for daddy? He's not going to need it for a few minutes, and I'd just hate to see him lose it. Can you do that for me?

_The little girl nods again. Louis drops the ring into her hand and ruffles her hair._

LOUIS:

Thanks, pumpkin. Look... here's a caramel.

_Louis fishes around in his pocket, then hands the little girl a caramel treat. He then rises up and slowly returns to Mr. Park. At first he lets out a single chuckle, as if nothing is wrong. As Mr. Park's defenses are momentarily lowered, Louis grabs him harshly by his shirt and lifts him into the air, throwing him backwards onto the ironing table. Louis picks up the red hot iron and presses it onto Mr. Park's hand. He howls as flesh-scented steam rises above. The three women in the room all scream at the top of their lungs, shaking their hands in the air._

LOUIS:

STOP BEING LATE WITH YOUR FUCKING PAYMENTS! GOT IT?!

_Louis removes the iron, leaving Mr. Park to hold his blistered, aching hand. Louis straightens out his ruffled jacket and smooths back the nonexistent hair on his head as he backs towards the door. He speaks courteously as he adjusts his neck tie._

LOUIS:

We at the Reece Insurance Company appreciate your patronage. If you have any questions as to our policies or deadlines, please feel free to give us a call, Monday through Friday, 9:00 am to 5:00 pm. Have a nice day.

_Louis opens the door by leaning into it, backwards. The little bell jingles his exit._

**193\. EXT. PARK'S DRY CLEANING – DAY**

_The Sun shines proudly on a beautiful day in this underdeveloped district of downtown Pittsburgh. Louis Dante is leaving the dry cleaner's feeling an immense job satisfaction. He whistles a merry tune as he strolls down the sidewalk, enjoying the balmy weather._

_A white Limousine with black, tinted windows pulls up on the road alongside him, slowing to a crawl in order to match the pace he is walking. The passenger side window rolls down and Helper leans his head out._

HELPER:

Louis Dante?

LOUIS:

Who's asking?

HELPER:

Someone who wants to offer you a job.

LOUIS:

'Sat so?

HELPER:

We love your style of business, Louis. Love it. We want you to work our side of town. We pay a hell of a lot better than Mr. Reece, too. And, our benefits are... out of this world.

_Helper inappropriately winks at Louis and laughs with a shrill, high-pitched trill. Louis wrinkles his nose with distaste._

LOUIS:

Look... I don't know who's been spilling info on me, but I ain't just some goon for hire. Me and Mr. Reece have a long history of mutual –

HELPER:

We'll pay you $4,000 just to get in the car.

_Louis stops walking and immediately makes for the moving vehicle._

LOUIS:

I want that dough upfront. Right now, squirt! You got me?

_Louis gets in the back and closes the door. Helper speaks under his breath as the limo drives away._

HELPER:

Oh, I got you alright...

**194\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – NIGHT**

_Windom Earle and Dale Cooper are attempting to best each other in another Chess match. "Magnificat, D Major" by Johann Sebastian Bach is playing from Windom's Victrola, and hot, steaming cups of coffee rest at either man's sides. After Windom makes a move, he smirks playfully as he prepares to delve into potentially uncomfortable territory..._

WINDOM:

May I ask you something personal, Coop?

DALE:

Of course. Consider me an open book.

WINDOM:

Is there anything going on between you and that ravishing secretary of ours?

_Dale turns tomato red._

DALE:

Diane?

WINDOM:

Yes. "Diane".

_Windom relishes making his partner squirm, playfully accentuating his pronunciation of "Diane". Dale immediately takes the defense._

DALE:

Absolutely not. What makes you ask?

WINDOM:

It's just that I've noticed that schoolboy grin which crosses your face whenever she walks past... And... she is certainly a sight to behold, after all...

_Unable to mask his crush, Dale's face breaks into a perfect example of the 'schoolboy grin' to which Windom was previously referring._

DALE:

I highly doubt I'd have a shot garnering the attention of someone as experienced and cultured as her... I'm sure she'd be far more suited to a man of the world.

WINDOM:

Underselling yourself is most unbecoming, Dale. You _are_ a man of the world. You should ask her to accompany you to dinner some evening...

_Dale shyly shifts back and forth, mumbling as he tries to make his next Chess move._

DALE:

Perhaps...

WINDOM:

There's nothing more fitting for a strong man than a strong woman. Symmetry in all things. It's all about balance.

_Dale can only nod his head in uncertain agreement. Windom picks up on Dale's internal self-doubt..._

WINDOM:

… Do strong women intimidate you?

_Dale uneasily considers this._

DALE:

I don't wish to think so...

WINDOM:

Send her poetry.

DALE:

Poetry?

WINDOM:

That's a surefire way to pique any woman's interest.

_Dale nods, considering this new tactical maneuver..._

DALE:

I've noticed that you and Caroline both share a love of poetry. I've not been exposed to much, I'm sorry to say. Where should I start?

_Windom makes a finishing move and rises, gesturing for Dale to follow him. It's as if he'd been merely stretching out the game to prolong their conversation, but effortlessly ended it now that something else had come up._

WINDOM:

Checkmate. Follow me.

_Dale accompanies Windom to his bookshelf. Flipping through the spines with his index finger, Windom pulls out a massive archival collection and hands the tome over to Dale. It is titled "_The Collected Poems of Shelly_"._

WINDOM:

Percy Bysshe Shelly. The finest dilettante who ever put pen to parchment. His heavily nuanced lyrics were scorned and denigrated in his time, and his beliefs branded as radical and condescending. But, as society has matured in our collective literary appreciation, his works have rightfully graduated to the highest caste of exalted Romantic poetry. I think you will particularly relate to his uncompromising idealism and staunch anti-violence sentiments.

_Dale smiles as he feels the heft of print in his hand, enthused over the prospects of delving into this exciting new medium. Windom winks as he asides from the corner of his mouth._

WINDOM:

And, most assuredly... Guaranteed aphrodisiac.

_Dale smiles, acknowledging that Windom clearly speaks from experience._

DALE:

Thank you, Windom. I shall –

_Dale freezes as his eyes halt upon a figurine that he'd not noticed before which rests displayed atop Windom's record collection. It depicts Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson facing off against an enormous Black Dog with red eyes, long fangs and sharp claws. Something about it makes Dale feel deeply discomforted, and filled with a vaguely defined, but pervading sense of melancholia..._

WINDOM:

What's wrong, Dale?

DALE:

What is that statue?

WINDOM:

The Hound of the Baskervilles. In one of Holmes' most celebrated cases, he brought an end to a dangerous spectral Hellhound which had been terrorizing the Devonshire countryside –

DALE:

… I don't like it.

WINDOM:

Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. May I ask why?

DALE:

I'm not entirely sure...

WINDOM:

In the book it was merely a hoax. Sherlock uncovered an elaborate –

DALE:

Yes, I read it when I was younger. I just...

_Dale leans over, his head spinning. Beads of sweat form on his forehead. He pulls at his collar, feeling faint._

DALE:

It's a little hot in here. Do you mind if we go take a walk?

_Immediately concerned over his best friend's comfort, Windom obliges his wishes and dresses to leave._

WINDOM:

Actually, that sounds like a splendid idea, regardless. Lead the way.

**195\. EXT. THE BLUFFS, SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD – NIGHT**

_Weeping Willows and other trees with low branches hang from overhead, creating a canopy above the sidewalk in this picturesque area of the Bluffs. Even though evening has fallen, children are still playing outside, families are chatting with their neighbors, and a group of teenagers are playing Frisbee. Only a few blocks from the Earle residence, Dale and Windom are taking a stroll together, lost in conversation._

WINDOM:

It's quite a rewarding thing, you know, seeing you gradually improve before my very eyes. I can tell that you're planning your moves several steps in advance, now.

DALE:

That's right. At the rate I'm going, it will only take me thirty years to beat you.

WINDOM:

Patience and perseverance are the two sole ingredients to success, and I can tell you have an ample reserve of both.

_Windom halts and takes a deep, refreshing breath of air, savoring the sensory experiences so many people take for granted._

WINDOM:

My God... Smell that freshly cut lawn! Small town suburbia is divinity itself, is it not? The middle class, white picket fences, two children and one dog... That's what's great about America. Take it from a naturalised Canadian.

DALE:

Yes. You certainly do live in an area that offers ample peace of mind.

_The two men pass by a front yard where a pleasant couple are training their little toddler to waddle across the lawn._

WINDOM:

Our line of work continually places us within the denigrated underbelly of society. I've been witness to acts so heinous, I could scarcely have imagined men capable of them. Therefore, it is essential to isolate my home life in surroundings that contain nothing but tranquillity and love. It's all about balance, Dale. Never forget that. It's all about balance.

_Dale nods in agreement with Windom's mantra._

DALE:

Balance. Yes. It's important to remember that there is so much beauty in this world...

WINDOM:

Nothing is more important. Because our job will do everything it can to make us forget...

**196\. INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_As Louis Dante wakes up, he finds himself tightly fastened to a splintery old chair in the center of a filthy storage room of an abandoned warehouse. Blood stains mark the floor under his seat, flies buzz about in the dank corners, and the room stinks of foul death. Ten Dugpas stand in a semi-circle around Louis, humming an incantation. A long, red curtain hangs over the back wall, concealing something behind. The dim room is completely bereft of natural light._

_Helper is knelt over, lighting twelve wax candles which have been laid out in a circle around Louis. He is unable to contain his excitement, hopping up and down and giggling like a lunatic. Louis struggles to free himself from the ropes which bind him, but he is restrained far too snugly to achieve any leeway. He barks at Helper, his impatient voice breaking, desperate to hide his __fear__._

LOUIS:

Who are you nutjobs!? What the hell do you want from me!?

_Helper faces him directly and points an index finger at Louis' nose._

HELPER:

Have you been touched by the Devilish One?

LOUIS:

What!? Are you touched in the head!? Seriously, what's with the crazy monk get ups!? Do you want money? 'Cos I can give you money.

HELPER:

I wasn't lying to you when I said our boss pays well. He's promised us all power far beyond any worth offered by your paltry money... And, with your sacrifice, power is exactly what we will cultivate.

LOUIS:

Sacri –

_Becoming enraged at his degrading treatment, Louis rocks back and forth in his well-anchored seat._

LOUIS:

When I get out of this chair, I'm gonna rip that pansy-ass curl in your hair right off of your head and shove it up your Goddamn ass! Now let me go!

_A singular source of applause emanates from behind the red curtain, ushering a silence over the room. Archibald Battis emerges, bringing with him a slow-clapping Fredrick Olcott, who wears a similar Medieval Tudor ensemble as the Dark Man had in Dale's dream._

FREDRICK:

Well done! Good show! If that was an attempt to give Helper, here, an incentive to betray his master and untie you, then I _am_ impressed!

_Fredrick faces Helper and gestures towards Louis._

FREDRICK:

Go ahead, Helper! I know how much you've always wanted to be scalped, and then have your hair administered rectally. You pine about it, endlessly. Go on... untie him!

_Helper looks back and forth like a poor, confused animal, not knowing what to do. Fredrick turns back to Louis, trying to keep a straight face._

FREDRICK:

No? Well, I'll be butterblunged! I guess your offer didn't interest him, after all. Your efforts at quiet diplomacy have failed.

_Fredrick gleefully chortles at Louis' expense. Helper and Battis join him in sniggering, along with many of the other Dugpas. Louis looks around, confusion taking precedence over anger._

LOUIS:

Who the fuck are you? Are you the ringmaster leading this freak show?

FREDRICK:

"_Ring_"master? Curious choice of words... I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else... _I_ am the sculptor.

_Fredrick snaps his fingers._

FREDRICK:

Medium, please!

_Battis hands Fredrick a large bucket of plaster and an accompanying brush. Without gaining permission, or even asking, Fredrick brazenly begins splattering wet plaster all over Louis' face. The bound captive spits and struggles as this is done, but Fredrick pays it no mind._

LOUIS:

Are you crazy!? What are you doing!? Get this stuff off my face!

_Louis' temperament dissolves into a berserk fury. He shakes his head violently and screams in absurd frustration. Fredrick halts his work and addresses Louis in a condescending tone._

FREDRICK:

Louis, Louis, Louis. I thought you were supposed to be one tough hombre. So, you can dish out intimidation and violence, but you can't take any, is that what you're telling us?

_Freddie makes little "tsk tsk tsk" noises as he wags his finger._

FREDRICK:

Now, man up and take your medicine!

_Fredrick stabs Louis with a needle, injecting a paralyzing agent into his bloodstream. The drug acts quickly and Louis goes stiff, allowing Fredrick to coat his face with plaster at his leisure._

FREDRICK:

There now. _Much_ easier to work with. You model types are always so fussy. I _do_ apologise for the theatrics. It's in the fine print, I'm afraid. Each one of us artistes are required to leave our own individual mark behind on our victims. Corn union malarkey. There's nothing quite like personalizing one's work, so they say. My signature of choice is to preserve a Death Mask of my victims during their final moments. Many of my less creative colleagues tend to mark the body itself, which is all well and good, but far too easy to get caught, I should think. I, being the crafty fellow that I am, found a way to make a mark _of_ the body, instead of _on_ the body.

_With a pleased swat of his hand, Fredrick chortles over his own self-praise._

FREDRICK:

I _am_ so devilishly clever at finding loopholes. Ordinarily, I mould the mask _after_ the ritual, you understand, but with all of the fun we have in store for you... there won't be much of a face left!

_Fredrick laughs sadistically as he finishes applying the plaster. He gets up and walks off._

FREDRICK:

Come fetch me when it dries.

_Battis nods. We see time pass very quickly through the eyes of Louis as the plaster hardens. His vision blurs and strange echoes are heard in his ears as his world is turned inside out and upside down. He feels his own body stretch and change shape as the drugs alter his central nervous system._

_Finally, several minutes later, his eyes focus and we return to real-time. His Death Mask has hardened, and it has formed a perfect plaster replica of his face. His real life eyes peering through the eye slits add to the effect, making the ghost-white impression especially haunting. Helper carefully removes the mask, jumping up and down with delight._

BATTIS:

My Dark Lord... It has dried.

_Fredrick returns to the room, now adorned in strange carnival garbs with mismatched colors and patterns. His shirt has polka dots, his pants are striped, and his kerchief is plaid. He is capped with a crooked top hat. Behind him, he drags a weighty sledgehammer, which scrapes and sparks against the pavement. He impatiently snaps his fingers to get Louis' attention._

FREDRICK:

You still with us, Lou?

_The effects of the drug are beginning to wear off. Louis dizzily looks up at Freddie._

FREDRICK:

I _had_ hoped you would join me for this last dance...

_Fredrick bows before Louis, as if chivalrously asking a lady to join him in a ballroom waltz._

FREDRICK:

Maestro! If you please!

_Helper stands in the corner beside an antiquated Victor phonograph. He pulls a record out of it's sleeve, blowing the dust off before he puts it on. He taps the end of the needle with his finger, creating an audible scuffing that booms through the speakers._

FREDRICK:

Battis... A little mood lighting if you'd be so kind?

_Battis pulls the red drapes from the ceiling and they fall into a pile on the floor. A hole in the wall behind casts a perfect circle of Moonlight around Louis like a spotlight. The phonograph begins playing the scratchy record. The delicate Wurlitzer notes which open "Dancing in the Moonlight" by King Harvest floods through the chamber, creating an upbeat romance and soulful ambiance._

_Fredrick feels the music moving inside of him and begins dancing a strange ballet around the room. Louis Dante, quite literally a captive audience, has no choice but to watch the bizarre spectacle unfold. Fredrick bounces and pirouettes in circles around the large chamber. He holds onto the stick of his sledgehammer, the heavy metal-end anchored in place, and uses this weight to lean forward and dip. He dances around and atop the hammer._

_Helper and Battis are so excited that they begin jiving with the music as well. We circle around the room to see that all the Dugpas are waving their hands back and forth as if they are at a rock concert. As the song continues picking up, Fredrick runs in a small circle around the hammer, using it's counterbalance to spin at a high speed. We close in on his face as the room behind him cycles past, the wrinkles of fat in his chins stretching out from the centrifugal force. As the song's chorus begins, Fredrick uses his momentum to pick up the sledgehammer and bring it's full force into Louis' face._

_Blood and teeth splatter everywhere and we hear the crunching of broken bones. Fredrick continues dancing as he pulls the hammer from out of Louis' face cavity. The prisoner's head no longer resembles anything human. He is clearly still alive, though, and wriggles back and forth, making spluttering noises as his tongue wags around limply from the open face-hole. Fredrick shouts over the loud music._

FREDRICK:

How is my swing, Louis!? Maybe I've got a future with the Louisville Sluggers! Do I deserve a hand!? Maybe you'd like to give me two!

_Fredrick drops the mallet and pulls out a rusty hacksaw from his waistcoat. He dances behind Louis, lifting the man's bound hands back, and begins the slow, arduous process of sawing through his wrists. The faceless Louis, vocal chords still existent, screams as loud as his remaining features allow._

_Helper and Battis are slow dancing together, Archibald even allowing Helper to partake of a tasteful dip. Fredrick, now thoroughly drenched in splatters of blood, has successfully severed through the bone and tendons. He laughs wickedly and tosses the hands to Helper, who aptly catches them._

FREDRICK:

Ahhh... It feels _so_ good to be working, again! Now, let's go in for the finish. Where's my Luger?

_Battis hands Fredrick his German issue handgun. He slowly walks up behind Louis, puts the gun to the back of his head, pulls the trigger, and blows his brains out. The bright flash of the gunfire brings us abruptly to black._

**197\. EXT. PITTSBURGH BUS STOP – NIGHT**

_A cascade of oily, polluted water splashes onto the wet asphalt as a Buick careens past the curb of a lonely back-road. A vandalized bus stop is mounted up on the sidewalk, within a finger's length of a dangerous turn in the road. A filthy old bag lady is rummaging through the waste bin, scavenging for a meal to get her through the night. Sitting patiently on the germ-infested bench is a Sikh, the steady rainfall soaking through his blue turban._

_Special Agent Phillip Jeffries rounds the turn in the road, his drenched overcoat pulled up to his ears. He helps himself to an open spot on the bench. The metal and glass booth, which serves as a deterrent from the elements, has an inconveniently placed gaping hole in it's top, permitting a concentrated shower of rainwater to fall perpetually onto the bench, wetting everything within range._

_Phillip keeps his arms folded and his gaze forward, speaking discreetly from the side of his mouth. He addresses the man sitting beside him._

JEFFRIES:

You're getting really good at that. I almost didn't recognize you.

_Somewhere beneath the brown skin, turban, unkempt bushel of beard, and dark blue bana of the Sikh, is Windom Earle._

WINDOM:

I thought I'd be a character actor when I attended university. Sometimes, I feel more at home in another body than my own.

_Phillip chuckles and shakes his head, his soaked hair flapping from side to side._

JEFFRIES:

You were an actor... Of course you were... Can't believe I never guessed that...

WINDOM:

You should have seen my Falstaff. Seven curtain calls.

_Phillip looks upon his disguised friend through the downpour of water._

JEFFRIES:

What's weighing so heavily on your mind, friend?

WINDOM:

Dale Cooper.

JEFFRIES:

That so? What about him?

WINDOM:

I've worked beside him for over two years now, and we've built up a solid bond. He's bright, courageous, intuitive, and admirably honest. I trust him implicitly.

JEFFRIES:

Shucks. I wonder how you talk about me when I'm not around...

WINDOM:

I think we should consider bringing him aboard. You've always said how we should expand our circle.

_Phillip chuckles._

JEFFRIES:

Our "dash of trust".

WINDOM:

I want you to meet him, see what you think?

_Phillip is already shaking his head._

JEFFRIES:

Sorry, Windom. This month's not good. I'm onto something big. Maybe bigger than anything. There's this girl in Seattle...

_Phillip trails off, seemingly disinclined to go into further detail._

JEFFRIES:

Look, I'll be out of town for awhile. You won't do anything crazy while I'm gone, will you?

WINDOM:

No, no. I'll lie low. Tell me about this girl you –

_Phillip pulls a dense manilla envelope from out of his overcoat and hands it to Windom._

JEFFRIES:

If you really trust me... you'll wait until I return before you open it.

WINDOM:

Then, why are you giving it to me now?

JEFFRIES:

Just in case I _don't_ return, Windom. Good luck to both of us.

_Phillip Jeffries rises from the bench and walks down the street, disappearing into the rain. Windom Earle sighs with a heavy burden of responsibility, spurts of rainwater blowing from his lips._

**198\. EXT. PITTSBURGH ALLEYWAY – DAY**

_From the ground, we are looking up at the Sunny sky above Pittsburgh. Bill and Aldo are standing above us, looking down at something unpleasant on the pavement. Bill projects distaste, his lips snarled and teeth gritted. Aldo has no discernible expression, his dull eyelids at half-mast while he slurps some wonton soup from a portable plastic bowl and spoon._

BILL:

Boy... he doesn't look too good, does he?

ALDO:

No, boss. Not at all. Kinda makes you feel sick, dudn't it?

_Aldo does not slow down his consumption of food as he says this. We now view the scene from their perspective. Louis Dante's disfigured, faceless body has been stashed in the mucky, littered area behind a dumpster._

_Behind the two Special Agents, a Federal issue car pulls up and parks. Dale and Windom emerge, walking over to the corpse. Neither of them has anything to say as they observe this nauseating depiction of the physical frailty of the human body. Dale pulls out his tape recorder as he leans down to examine it closer._

DALE:

Diane, I am standing over the body of a male, approximately thirty years of age. His wrists are tied behind his back, and it appears he has been shot once in the back of the head. His hands have been cut off, his teeth smashed, and his face destroyed. Who and what he was may never be known. This appears to be the work of organized crime.

_Dale stands up and clicks off his tape recorder. He is overcome by a malaise. Windom stands strong, acting as spiritual support._

BILL:

Okay. Let's bag him up and take him home.

**199\. INT. PITTSBURGH MORGUE, WAITING ROOM – DAY**

_The two partners are in the sterile, soulless morgue. Windom sits patiently in the seats provided, but Dale walks back and forth in frustration._

DALE:

I hate coming here. This Albert character is really the most disagreeable man I've ever encountered! He's such an absolute –

_Dale consciously stems his own fume and takes a deep breath, touching his thumb and forefinger in meditative discipline._

DALE:

Excuse me, but in the interests of good taste I shall not complete that thought.

_Windom quietly allows his younger friend to vent, opting not to comment unless prompted._

DALE:

But, you've met him. I mean, why should we have to tolerate someone like that?

WINDOM:

Everyone walks their own path in life, Dale. You and I have cannot possibly understand Albert's personal demons. My suggestion, and that's all it is, is that you be a little more forgiving of a man who's only desire is to protect life, yet finds himself, daily, surrounded by nothing but death. When considering him like this, it is far easier to accept him for all of his... eccentricities.

_Dale takes Windom's words into consideration as Albert enters the room._

ALBERT:

Greetings, Agent Earle. I'm ready to review my findings with you.

_Albert eyes Dale with impatience._

ALBERT:

Ah. I see you brought along your sidekick. Very well. I'll be sure to speak slowly and use flash cards when necessary. Just don't ask me to put on a puppet show...

**200\. INT. DARIO'S DOUGHNUTS – NIGHT**

_Dario, unwashed and sweat-stained as always, is rapturously pumping red jelly inside a filled doughnut. Dale slinks in, lacking his usual brand of enthusiasm. Dario greets his favorite client with gusto._

DARIO:

Eyyy! Special Agent Cooper!

DALE:

Hello, Dario.

DARIO:

You had yaself dinner, yet?

DALE:

Nope. Let's go whole hog.

DARIO:

At's what I like to hear!

_Dario merrily prepares the box of one dozen doughnuts for Dale to take home. As he does so, he picks up on the absence of Dale's characteristic cheerfulness._

DARIO:

Hey, cousin... Everything alright? You seem a little long in the face.

DALE:

I'm not sure... I don't feel so good.

DARIO:

What? Like a stomach ache? Yeah, I get that, too. The volume of acid swirling around inside of this gut... You could drown a village of pygmies in it!

DALE:

No, no. My stomach is fine...

DARIO:

Good. Because you gotta lotta doughnuts here.

DALE:

Do you ever get to feeling lonely, sometimes?

DARIO:

Lonely? You? Caspiterina! I figured you had loads of friends, sociable guy like you! Hey, you got me, right!?

_Dale chuckles at the noble vendor's unconditional support._

DALE:

I'm sure it'll pass. Maybe it's just one of those days...

DARIO:

We all get like that now and then. When we're feelin' down for no good reason. Ebb and flow, cousin. Ebb and flow. Sometimes we forget how many friends we have...

DALE:

You're right. You're right. I do have many friends. Of course I do.

_After imparting his words of wisdom, Dario hands over the hefty box of doughnuts._

DARIO:

Here, take your jelly-filled prescription and you'll feel better.

DALE:

Thanks, Dario. Take care.

DARIO:

Ciao.

_Dale, his hands full of freshly baked doughnuts, heads up to his room._

**201\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – NIGHT**

_Windom is alone in his study. He is seated in his luxurious reading chair, smoking from his prestigious pipe. His mind is deeply absorbed in "Queen Mab" by Percy Shelley. The eerily provocative "Adagio in G Minor" by Tomaso Albioni is playing from Windom's record player, providing a soundtrack that casts the spirits of the room into an ominous gloom._

_So caught up in his reading and listening material, Windom hardly notices as the telephone rings. Setting his book aside, Windom leisurely wanders over to answer his call. But, upon picking up the receiver, he feels cold shivers run down his spine._

WINDOM:

Hello?

DARK MAN:

Hello, Windom... I hope you haven't got your overly obtuse proboscis buried so deeply in the writings of that limp-wristed poet that you fail to realise _things are happening_ tonight!

WINDOM:

Who is this?

DARK MAN:

Come now, Windom. Surly, you must know who I am. I certainly know who you are... I thought you were supposed to be spying on me. But, you're not a very adept spy if I must tell you where to spy on me from!

WINDOM:

Why are you taunting me? What is it you want?

DARK MAN:

I propose a game of "chicken"! Come to the abandoned warehouse on Lincoln and Berman to prove that your courage is perfect. Just you and I, staring each other down in an old-fashioned gentleman's duel. Whoever blinks first, loses.

_A click is heard and the line goes dead. Windom holds the phone in his hand and curses to himself..._

WINDOM:

Dammit, Jeffries... Why aren't you here when I need you?

_Windom spends several agonizing moments weighing his options. He stares down at the receiver in his hand, considering whether he should involve anyone else. With a heavy heart, Windom decides to go it alone. He hangs up the receiver._

_Caroline enters from the bedroom to find Windom putting on his jacket. She carries Sirite, gently stroking her fur. Her protective instincts kick in and she questions her husband's unannounced departure at this late hour._

CAROLINE:

Are you headed out?

WINDOM:

I fear so. I might be gone for awhile. Don't wait up.

CAROLINE:

Who was that on the phone?

WINDOM:

Nothing to worry about. I'll see you, soon.

_Windom is evidently not interested in going into detail. He hurriedly makes for the door, but stops himself for one final word before exiting..._

WINDOM:

I love you, Caroline. I love you so much.

_Windom leaves. Caroline looks down at her rabbit, both of them saddened by Windom's abrupt departure._

**202\. INT. DALE'S PITTSBURGH APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_Dale sits in his bed, dressed in his bright red pajamas. He is reading from a book written by the Dali Llama. The phone beside his bed rings, and he instinctively answers without removing his eyes from the page._

DALE:

Cooper here.

WINDOM:

I need your help, Dale.

_Dale sits up, attentively. Windom's voice comes across as strangely frightened._

DALE:

Windom? What is it?

WINDOM:

Something's going on tonight, and we don't have time to go through official channels. I know this is against Bureau procedure, but meet me at Lincoln and Berman. I need you, partner.

DALE:

Of course. I'll be there right away.

_Not taking the time to question his partner's irregular demands, Dale readies himself in record time and dashes outside._

**203\. EXT. PITTSBURGH STREET, DALE'S CAR – NIGHT**

_Dale is driving the maximum speed limit through the night, aware that moments wasted may be critical. We can see the dark road ahead of him illuminated only by his head lights. The yellow dashes that make up the division between lanes blur together as they speed under the car, giving the illusion that they are on a conveyer belt._

**204\. EXT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_Dale Cooper turns off the ignition, killing the motor and silently rolling his vehicle around the corner of the deserted warehouse. He brings it to a stop and quietly exits the car, letting the door gently close behind him. The gravel crunches under his feet, no matter how lightly he treads._

_Dale cautiously approaches the side of the building, which is entirely unlit. Surveying the area, Dale can find no trace of anyone, suspect, civilian or otherwise. Parked against a chain link fence that borders the area is Windom's car. Nervously, Dale takes out his tape recorder and whispers into it..._

DALE:

Diane. Found Windom's car. He is nowhere to be seen. Am moving into an abandoned building...

_Dale draws his Glock and holds it at the ready. He cautiously makes his way to the side of the desolate building, making an aside into his recorder..._

DALE:

I have a bad feeling about this...

**205\. INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_We are looking down the stairs into the lower lobby. There is a large hole in the side of the wall where the mortar has crumbled away. Dale Cooper leans his head in to inspect the premises. He covers both directions with his firearm before he decides it's safe enough to step inside. As he explores the building, he quietly updates his actions onto his tape recorder._

DALE:

I'm moving in through a hole in the side of the building...

_The inside of the warehouse is blindingly black with no direct light source penetrating the interior. There are clutters of debris and rubble everywhere, and fragments of the ceiling above have fallen to the floor. Dale slowly advances, listening for any sounds that might betray a concealed presence within the looming dark._

DALE:

Turning down what is left of a hallway toward a stairway... There's something up there...

_Dale slowly ascends the stairs, his every tiptoe creaking against the cracked wood. An object rests on one of the steps, it's dark color obscuring it's distinct shape in the blackness. Dale leans over to discover it is a brown leather wallet. Using a pencil which he pulls from inside his pocket, he carefully picks it up, so as not to get his finger prints on it. Dale opens the wallet and reveals a clear plastic window, behind which is held a driver's license..._

DALE:

Diane, at the top of the stairs I've found Windom's wallet and ID. I'm moving on.

_Dale puts the evidence inside his pocket and continues up the stairs to the top landing. Down towards the end of the hall are two closed doors with a giant "_X_" etched across them in glowing white chalk. Dale creeps to the double doors, breathes deeply and opens them, firearm at the ready._

_Dale faces an empty room. Although dirty, it looks as though it was recently sanitized. Dale pauses in horror when he notices something resting in the center of the room. On the filthy ground are two severed hands. A perfect circle of Moonlight is shining through a crack in the wall behind, which perfectly surrounds them in a white spotlight. Dale feels dread regarding the safety of Agent Earle..._

**206\. EXT. GLASTONBURY GROVE – NIGHT**

_In the Pacific Northwest, the cold wind blows a foreboding breeze which rustles through the Fir trees. The Moonlight dilutes through the wings of a group of moths which clutter above a small berry bush._

_In the center of the twelve Sycamore trees that make up Glastonbury Grove, oil begins to rise once again from the hole in the ground, conjured from nothing pertaining to the physical realm. A Giant Horned Owl sits up in one of the nearby Pine trees. It watches this unnatural occurrence with either interest or dread, and jumps off of the tree, flying into the night..._

**207\. EXT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT**

_Over a decade since their last successful interception, the massive radio dish is still well maintained. Not visible to the naked eye, it is currently picking up the signals it has patiently been waiting for during this lengthy reprieve._

**208\. INT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT**

_The two radio monitors are sitting at a portable card table, looking bored as ever, wondering why they haven't found better jobs by now. Both men are lazily resting their heads in their hands, and dull, monotonous gazes gloss over their eyes. They are playing dominoes, and each takes a turn placing a piece upright directly behind the previous one. The line they have culminated curves around itself many times, easily a couple hundred pieces long._

_The silence in the room is broken by a soft blip, accompanied by a red flash of light. Both men take notice and immediately jump up from the table, rushing towards the computer screens. One of the monitors bumps the table, toppling over the first domino and beginning a long-winding chain reaction._

RADIO MONITOR 2:

This is it! Here we go! We've got another one! Another message is transmitting from the Earth! Quick, call General Manners!

_The first radio monitor checks his pockets, but does not find a number. He rifles through drawers and cabinets, upending the room to no avail. We close in on the line of dominoes as it continues toppling over._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

Where's his number? I mean, would you believe it? We've been waiting all these years for another transmission...? And now, I can't find the Goddamn number!

_Uncovered from a cabinet, the monitor pulls out a roll-a-dex and flicks through the cards, panting and sweating. The dominoes continue to fall._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

Got it! Manners.

_The long line of dominoes comes to an end as the final piece is knocked over. We follow it closely as it falls from the table and slowly travels the long distance to the ground. The domino eventually connects with the linoleum floor, resulting in an explosively loud crash that echos throughout the chamber. Meanwhile, the radio monitor dials the number on a bright blue phone. After only one ring, the voice of the operator is heard._

OPERATOR:

Please enjoy the following music while your party is reached.

_Some relaxing, but disposable muzak plays while he paces back and forth, grim determination on his face._

RADIO MONITOR 2:

You got him?

RADIO MONITOR 1:

Call waiting. Say, could you pass me one of those doughnuts?

RADIO MONITOR 2:

Yeah, sure.

_As the second radio monitor paces dramatically, he is handed one of the fried pastries. He takes a bite, and then reels back in disappointment._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

What the hell is that? Did you order custard-filled like I told you?

RADIO MONITOR 2:

Yeah. Uhh... No. Cream-filled.

RADIO MONITOR 1:

_Cream_-filled?! What the fuck, man?! Jesus Christ, we might as well have gotten a pack of Twinkies!

_The call-waiting muzak ends and the other party answers._

RADIO MONITOR 1:

General Manners. We've got another transmission.

**209\. INT. BRIGGS HOUSE – NIGHT**

_Air Force Major Garland Briggs, now settled and living in Twin Peaks, appeases himself in the mirror as he dresses for bed. The majority of his hair has been lost to him, a casualty of his years, and his figure has filled out in certain places more than others. But, despite the ravages of time, he still retains a professional, accomplished presence._

_The telephone rings. Realizing that it must pertain to something of importance to call at such a late hour, Garland enters the kitchen to answer it. His wife, Betty Briggs, is struggling to feed milk to their wild and unruly toddler, Bobby. Garland answers the phone._

BRIGGS:

Garland Briggs speaking. Hello, General.

_He listens carefully to the voice on the other end. We cannot hear a word over Bobby's gurgling._ _Betty brings the bottle of warm milk to Bobby's toothless gums, prompting him to partake. Bobby takes a mouthful of the creamy liquid and promptly spits it back into his mother's face. This fills him with no end of delight, and he giggles and claps his little hands. Betty screams, not remotely amused by her son's discerning beverage tastes._

BETTY:

Dammit! Robert, you little creep! Garland, can you give me a hand, here!?

BRIGGS:

I see...

_Garland pays her no attention as she wipes the milk out of her eyes. He strains to fully comprehend every order he is being issued._

BRIGGS:

Understood. I shall be steadfast in my vigilance and direct my eyes and ears towards the woods. Yes, sir.

_Garland hangs up the telephone, his duties coming before all else. Betty tries to get some information..._

BETTY:

What is it?

BRIGGS:

I fear something is happening this night. I will return as soon as I am able.

_Betty nods, accepting her husband's commitments with no further inquiry. As he returns to the bedroom to suit up, she looks down at her giggling son. Despite her irritation and humiliation, she sums up the troublemaker with nothing but __love__._

BETTY:

You may be a little creep, alright... but you're my little creep.

**210\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT**

_Garland Briggs, dressed in his blue Air Force uniform, stands on a grassy hillock alone in the dark forest. A powerful wind blows, his sleeves and trouser legs flapping wildly against his stoic frame. He peers into the woods and wonders what it is he might be waiting for._ _As we hold on him, all goes black..._

**211\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY - NIGHT**

_Dale Cooper sits on the sofa with Caroline, informally questioning her. She seems just as perplexed as to what could have happened to her husband as Dale is..._

CAROLINE:

I mean, it seemed like there was nothing wrong... He said he was just heading out for awhile. Why wouldn't he tell me that he might be in danger? Why would he lie to me?

DALE:

I'm sure his only intention was to protect you... Is there anything you can remember about his behavior right before he left?

CAROLINE:

He took a phone call.

DALE:

What time was that?

CAROLINE:

Around seven o'clock. I asked him who it was and where he was going, but he wouldn't tell me. He just said not to wait up.

DALE:

He didn't call me until about 7:25, so he was already somewhere outside the house... Dammit, it doesn't make sense. Why would he head out prematurely without back-up? Why didn't he wait for me? He knows better than that...

CAROLINE:

Do you think he's going to be alright?

_Dale is filled with uncertainty, but gives a very convincing performance of reassurance, for his own sake as much as for Caroline's._

DALE:

Windom Earle is the greatest lawman I've ever known, and there's no doubt in my mind that he can take care of himself...

_Caroline nods in agreement, gently taking Dale's hand._

CAROLINE:

The most we can do is stay strong in his absence... and not lose hope... Hope is all that we have...

_Dale doesn't want to accept these words, but he is moved by Caroline's strength._

**212\. EXT. PITTSBURGH DOCKSIDE – DAY**

_We are looking up into the blue Pittsburgh sky once more, this time from the surface of a dock. The bright morning Sun creates a blinding lens flare. Bill and Aldo's jaded mugs squint down from above._

BILL:

Yep. That's why I love Pittsburgh. You just never know what you're gonna trod in.

ALDO:

Yeah. Can't believe some poor dockworker found this guy by accidentally stepping into his face cavity. What a way to start your day. Disgusting...

_As Aldo finishes his thought, he takes a big, sloppy bite out of his taco. We look down at the dampened dock to see another body. It is mutilated in the exact the same way as before, with an unrecognizable depressed face cavity and severed hands._

BILL:

Dale is not going to be thrilled to see this.

ALDO:

Albert is, though. Bastard loves a challenge.

**213\. INT. PITTSBURGH MORGUE – DAY**

_Dale stands with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed, displeased to be back in the morgue, for multiple reasons. Albert, dressed in his scrubs, fills him in on all the latest info. The second faceless, hand-less corpse lies on the table behind him._

ALBERT:

Exactly the same wounds as before. Wonder if these two were having a "face-off"?

_Albert smiles and gives a single silent chuckle. Dale rolls his eyes._

ALBERT:

After determining the time of death on the body and analyzing the path of the bullet, it's clear to me that the destruction of the face and the severing of the hands occurred _before_ he was killed.

DALE:

Before...?

ALBERT:

That's right, these gents were kept alive and tortured. Possibly for days. The queerest thing is that the bodies don't weigh as much as they should.

DALE:

What do you mean, "weigh..."?

_Albert sighs._

ALBERT:

Weight. It's how we gauge the force of gravity exerted upon a physical object. In both Customary and Imperial units, weight is measured in pounds.

_Dale does not lose his temper, but neither does he back down._

DALE:

If you're finished entertaining yourself... What's the discrepancy with the weight of the corpses?

ALBERT:

Given their height and width, these bodies are both about 40 to 50 pounds less than they should be. That's quite a lot. At first, I thought perhaps some internal organs had been removed, but I haven't found anything missing which would account for that much of a difference...

_Dale shakes his head, the morbidity and strangeness of this case rapidly increasing._

ALBERT:

Now, as to those hands you found... Just in case you were losing too much sleep over their previous owner... fingerprints indicate that they belonged to one Louis Dante, a small time thug who worked in the extortion racket. He's got a rap sheet as long as...

_Albert pauses, trying to come up with a humorous comparison. His eyes hold on Dale._

ALBERT:

As long as it takes you to respond when prompted with a "yes" or "no" question.

_Albert laughs at his joke made at Cooper's expense. Dale is not amused. Albert quickly moves on, as if no offensive slight had been made._

ALBERT:

Now, in order to find out whether these fingerprints match the first body... that's going to take a real expert. I've sent for someone special.

_Dale crosses his arms in bemusement._

DALE:

Oh? I thought _you_ were the best?

_Albert's expression suddenly grows colder than usual._

ALBERT:

That's not entirely accurate. I am the second best.

DALE:

Well, then, who's better?

_As if on cue, the door opens up and heralds the arrival of a pompous old man and his coterie of expressionless goons. It is IBRAHIM ROSENFIELD __**[**__**José**__**Ferrer**__**]**__, a Puerto Rican with a permanent stain of dissatisfaction upon his spent face. He is unmistakably Albert's father, looking nearly identical to him with the addition of a few decades. He removes his dark glasses and surveys the perfectly clean and organized room with nothing but sheer disgust._

IBRAHIM:

¡Ea diantre! This is a morgue? It looks like a child's play room! This is how you keep your equipment, is it, Albert?

_As Ibrahim inspects the room, he shakes his head in disapproval, looking for things to criticize. As he moves, he snaps on a pair of elastic gloves._

IBRAHIM:

All those years of expensive schooling I invested in, and you're still a messy child... Unbelievable...

_He waves his son away with one gloved hand as he approaches the table._

IBRAHIM:

Step back, please...

_ Albert says nothing and passively cowers away. Ibrahim wastes no time with pleasantries, immediately moving to scrub up. His two goons silently unpack equipment. Ibrahim addresses whatever audience may be listening, offering nothing but further complaints._

IBRAHIM:

The flight was a nightmare... What did you have to get assigned up here in the God-forsaken Mid-Atlantic for, anyways?

ALBERT:

I apologize for the inconvenience, father. I assure you that the Bureau does not take your assistance lightly. Your authority is highly valued.

IBRAHIM:

¡Ha! I should hope so! Just look at this mess, here. It's a good thing I was called in when I was. If we left it up to you, you'd probably ID your own hands by mistake, you clumsy ass!

_Ibrahim cackles loudly and proudly, his two goons joining him in a boisterous babbling. Albert does his best not to betray his pragmatic composure, but Dale feels increasingly uncomfortable as the room fills with a triad of insane, apathetic guffawing. The laughter reaches a distorted pitch, and the trio sound like a group of Howler Monkeys. A tear of merriment slides down Ibrahim's cheek, which he wipes away with a gloved hand. Breathing slowly, he opens his suitcase and pulls out some paperwork._

IBRAHIM:

Let's see, now... Let me review what you've already determined about the corpse. See how much you missed...

_Albert points to the top of the paper, trying to help._

ALBERT:

I've determined that death was caused several hours after –

_Ibrahim shouts in agitation, startling Albert backwards like an abused animal._

IBRAHIM:

¡Aye! I'm reading it, aren't I!? What are you doing!? I don't need you spitting in my ear! Carumba...

_Unable to let it sit, Ibrahim pours further salt in the wound by adding one more unnecessary comment..._

IBRAHIM:

Why don't you go and get yourself adopted, somewhere, huh?

_Ibrahim chuckles. Able to stomach no more, Dale stands up and approaches the table._

DALE:

Excuse me, Agent...

_Ibrahim looks up at Dale's intrusion with distaste and impatience._

IBRAHIM:

Rosenfield. R-O-S –

DALE:

Yes, I can spell perfectly fine, thank you. I hear you are the best in the world at what you do, is this correct?

IBRAHIM:

I have worked in the field of forensic medicine for the past thirty years. Hundreds of killers have been brought to justice thanks to my –

_Dale forcefully interrupts his bluster._

DALE:

Excuse me! But, you've just been on a flight from...

IBRAHIM:

Santa Fe.

DALE:

Santa Fe. A cross-country flight... and you didn't bother to brief yourself before you got here!?

_Dale tears the paperwork out of Ibrahim's hands and looks it over._

DALE:

What is this, the complete forensics report? And, you've had it in your briefcase? There's been two bodies found in five days! Don't you realize that time is of the essence, man!? That doesn't sound like the work of the best to me... That sounds sloppy!

_Grievously insulted, Ibrahim snaps at Dale._

IBRAHIM:

Listen to me, you little upstart... Do you have any idea who I am? You think you can talk to me this way!?

_Dale takes a step forward, meeting Ibrahim's eyes dead on._

DALE:

With my partner missing, I am heading this investigation. That means that you answer to me. And, if you can't get your act together, you're welcome to head back to Santa Fe at your leisure. I've no doubt that Special Agent _Albert_ Rosenfield will do an exceptional job in your absence, as he always does. Now, if you'll excuse me, my best friend's life may be at stake, and I have no time to remain here and babysit...

_Dale turns and leaves without bothering to look behind him. Albert's smile is a mile long, though he quickly hides it when Ibrahim glances his way. Ibrahim snarls behind Dale's back._

**214\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, DINING ROOM – NIGHT**

_The house is quiet, and the common soothing sounds of Baroque-era music is absent. The only noise is the metronomic ticking of the grandfather clock. Dale and Caroline sit together at the barren dining room table, drinking freshly brewed black coffee._

DALE:

I just wish I – Ooh. That's... _damn_ good coffee. Wow. Ahem. I just wish I had something to go on... If only he'd given me the slightest indication of what we were supposed to be doing last night. I can't bare sitting here... feeling so helpless.

_Their roles now reversed, it's Caroline's turn to comfort Dale._

CAROLINE:

The moment he needed you last night, you were ready to have his back. That's the most anyone can ask for. Reliable friends are hard to come by, and I know that Windom considers you his very best.

DALE:

I was just thinking... Two and a half years ago to the day was when we played our first game of Chess... We hadn't missed a day, since...

_Caroline takes Dale by the hand._

DALE:

There was a tone in his voice last night that I'd never heard before... It was as if... Whenever Windom speaks, his resolve is strong, his confidence unwavering. But, last night... it sounded like a ploy. A ruse to mask the fact that... he was actually afraid. Caroline... it was the first time I'd heard fear in Windom's voice.

_Caroline absorbs everything Dale is telling her, not allowing it to sway even slightly the absolute faith she has in her husband._

CAROLINE:

Whatever it was that's spooked him, Windom is the bravest man I know.

_Dale looks at Caroline with respect, admiration, and perhaps another emotion that is difficult for him to define._

DALE:

And, you're the bravest woman I know.

**215\. INT. DALE'S PITTSBURGH APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_Dale sits alone in his dark bedroom. The only light source is the Moon, which pours in through the window. It reflects off of the glass pyramid hanging from the ceiling, dividing the luminescence into diverging beams and dispersing them throughout the room. Dale speaks softly into his tape recorder as he sits up in his bed._

DALE:

Windom has been missing for twenty-four hours. Diane... with each passing hour, Windom's fate is more and more in doubt. Talked to Caroline. She is holding up well.

_The telephone rings on the nightstand beside him._

DALE:

Excuse me.

_Dale clicks off his recorder and answers the phone._

DALE:

Dale Cooper. Who is this?

_We cannot hear the voice on the other end, but Dale's face has gone staunch white, and his throat becomes dry, making it difficult to swallow. After a few tense seconds, the line goes dead. Dale hangs up and turns his recorder back on._

DALE:

I've been told to go to an abandoned barge on the Ohio River. I am to come alone. What awaits me there, I do not know...

**216\. EXT. NIGHT SKY – NIGHT**

_Thin slivers of gray clouds slowly pass over the Moon like long, boney fingers._

**217\. EXT. OHIO RIVER, ABANDONED BARGE – NIGHT**

_It is cold and quite on this isolated corner of the Ohio River. There are no passersby, nor late night dock workers. The only sound is that of the oily river water gently lapping up to the edge of the wooden beams. Stray bits of litter roll along the wet planks, and an old, weathered fishing net has been entangled upon a post, long ago discarded._

_Dale is slowly making his way along the dock, his Glock drawn at the ready. Tension runs up his spine as he darts to and fro, sticking to spots of cover, __fear__ful that he may be being watched at that very moment. As he moves, he does his best to survey this large and disadvantageous location. High above him is a giant crane, badly in disrepair and most likely abandoned. Dale stands under it, finding himself secluded in the behemoth's immense shadow. From this location, Dale slowly steps to the dock's edge and sees the river, far below him. Directly under him is a filthy barge, half submerged in the water. Dale crouches down on his knees and squints his eyes as he sees two items illuminated by the Moonlight._

_ We leave Dale's elevated spot and slowly fall all the way down to the water level. Resting upon the surface of the barge are two severed hands, the fingers of each pinched together to hold a single square of cardboard. One of the pieces is white. The other is black._

**218\. INT. PITTSBURGH OFFICE – DAY**

_Dale sits at his office desk, lost in deep contemplation. He doodles some notes to himself, including "_black + white = ?_". Gliding up from the darkened nook behind the desk, Diane rests her hand on Dale's shoulder and whispers into his ear._

DIANE:

Gordon Cole is on his way. I think he's someone you want to know. He's good at taking charge, but he lets Agents do their own thing when he trusts them. Don't be nervous. Offer to buy him lunch. He'll refuse, but you'll have a friend for life.

_After imparting her advice, Diane disappears into the shadows once more. From somewhere down the hall, Dale hears an extremely loud whirlwind of noise blowing his way..._

GORDON:

I THINK I KNOW MY WAY AROUND FROM HERE, BOYS, BUT THE ESCORT IS MUCH APPRECIATED!

_From around the corner enters GORDON COLE __**[David Lynch]**__. His face is aged but quintessentially boyish. His gray hair is styled sloppily and his eyes are transfixed. Inserted in both ears is a gigantic hearing aide that looks as though an audio mixing station had been installed into his head. Unbeknownst to him, every word from his mouth is delivered in a decibel-shattering level._

_Bill is leaning back in his chair, taking a nap. Aldo is eating from a plate of meat at his desk. As Gordon enters the office room, he loudly announces his presence. Bill is awoken so abruptly that he kicks his leg forward, jamming his foot inside his waste paper basket._

GORDON:

HELLO, PITTSBURGH! SO SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT ALL THE BAD NEWS! I SWOOPED IN JUST AS QUICK AS I COULD!

_Bill is only half listening as he struggles to remove his foot from the rubbish bin._

BILL:

I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow...

GORDON:

NEED TO BE UPDATED ON WHAT DIRECTION YOU'RE FOLLOWING THIS KIDNAPPING WITH! BUT FIRST, SOMEONE NEEDS TO TELL ME WHERE THAT MOUTH-WATERING AROMA IS COMING FROM! SOMETHING SMELLS DELICIOUS!

_Aldo looks up from the ample plate of meat he is enjoying._

ALDO:

Just some rabbit... Leftovers. Sorry, but I don't have much left...

GORDON:

I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK, KID! BUT, I'M AFRAID THIS IS STRICTLY BUSINESS! NO TIME TO INDULGE MY APPETITE! I'D LIKE TO SPEAK TO WINDOM'S PARTNER, THE NEW GUY! WHERE'S SPECIAL AGENT DALE COOPER?!

_As if on cue, Dale walks around the corner, extending a friendly hand._

DALE:

You must be Gordon Cole.

GORDON:

THE NAME'S GORDON COLE!

DALE:

Yes, I've heard about you...

GORDON:

MAYBE YOU'VE HEARD ABOUT ME! I'M THE DEPUTY DIRECTOR OF THE CRIMINAL INVESTIGATIONS DIVISION! IT'S A MOUTHFUL, I KNOW! WORKING MY BACKSIDE OFF FOR A PROMOTION JUST SO'S I HAVE LESS TO SAY WHEN I INTRODUCE MYSELF!

DALE:

I assume you're here to question me about Agent Earle's disappearance? I was the last one to hear from him before he vanished.

_Gordon nods in understanding and pats Dale on the shoulder._

GORDON:

LISTEN, DALE... YOU'RE PERSONAL LIFE IS NONE OF MY CONCERN! WE ACCEPT ALL TYPES HERE AT THE FBI! WE'RE VERY MODERN! ACTUALLY, I WANTED TO ASK YOU ABOUT AGENT EARLE'S DISAPPEARANCE! WHENEVER AN AGENT GOES MISSING, THEY SEND ME IN TO SEE WHAT'S WHAT! IT'S MY UNDERSTANDING THAT YOU WERE THE LAST ONE TO SPEAK TO HIM!

DALE:

Yes, that's correct...

GORDON:

EH!? I'M AFRAID YOU'LL HAVE TO SPEAK UP, SONNY! MAYBE YOU DIDN'T NOTICE, BUT MY HEARING'S A LITTLE SPOTTY!

_Dale glances at Bill and Aldo for guidance. They are both making a rolling motion with their arms, gesturing "more, more"._

DALE:

Yes! I received a phone call from Agent Earle last night!

GORDON:

PERHAPS YOU'D CARE TO TALK PRIVATELY! CAN WE STEP INTO THE BACK OFFICE!?

_Gordon ushers Dale into the small office, making sure to close the door behind him. However, he then proceeds to speak just as loudly as before. Bill and Aldo capture every word with a modicum of effort._

**219\. INT. PITTSBURGH OFFICE, MEETING ROOM – DAY**

GORDON:

I'M GOING TO TAKE A CRACK HERE AND SAY THAT EARLE WAS UP TO SOMETHING OUTSIDE OF STANDARD BUREAU GUIDELINES, AM I RIGHT!?

DALE:

Yes...

_Gordon cocks his head, and Dale remembers to raise his voice._

DALE:

Yes! He requested that I meet him without backup in an area known for organized crime! It was at this location that I found his wallet!

GORDON:

I KNOW WINDOM, PERSONALLY! ONE OF THE MOST CAPABLE MEN I'VE EVER MET! HE'LL BE FINE, I'M SURE OF IT! BUT JUST TO GIVE HIM THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT, WE NEED TO DO EVERYTHING WE CAN TO FIND HIM! RUN ME THROUGH THE STEPS YOU'RE TAKING!

_As Dale speaks, Gordon tilts his head and repositions his face, straining to hear._

DALE:

Firstly we're making a positive identification on both of the bodies found and matching them to the sets of hands! If we can find a link between the victims, it's possible we can find a motive for the killers, whom I believe to be Windom's abductors! Secondly, we've released an All Points Bulletin with Windom's current description, so law enforcement everywhere is out looking for him! Thirdly, we're waiting to be contacted again! I have Caroline's phone tapped! If she receives another call, we can trace it's origin! And lastly, I'm continually wracking my brains trying to decipher the meaning behind those black and white squares that were left for me! I'm certain it's a message of some sort! A clue! If I can crack the message, I can find him!

_A long pause as Gordon picks up from his body language that Dale has finished speaking._

GORDON:

WHAT I CAUGHT OF THAT SOUNDS LIKE YOU ARE REALLY ON THE BALL HERE, AGENT COOPER! LOOKS AS THOUGH YOU'RE HANDLING YOURSELF WELL IN EARLE'S ABSENCE! NOT BUCKLING UNDER PRESSURE! THAT'S WHAT WE LIKE TO SEE!

DALE:

I appreciate your vote of confidence! Listen, uhm... Can I buy you lunch?!

_Gordon excitedly grabs Dale by both shoulders and grins like a schoolboy._

GORDON:

NOW THAT'S MY KIND OF GUY! AFRAID I HAVE TO SKEDADDLE ON OUT OF HERE PRONTO, BUT NEXT TIME I WILL TAKE YOU UP ON THAT OFFER! REAL GLAD TO KNOW YOU, COOP! DO YOU MIND IF I CALL YOU COOP!?

DALE:

I would be honored, sir!

GORDON:

REAL GLAD TO KNOW YOU, COOP! KEEP ME INFORMED OF ANY DEVELOPMENTS!

_Gordon gives a thumbs up as he leaves._

**220\. INT. PITTSBURGH OFFICE – DAY**

_Bill and Aldo are up against the meeting room door, their ears pressed against the wall, capturing every word of the private conversation. Hearing Gordon approaching, both Agents scramble back their their desks, striking exaggeratedly nonchalant positions, as if they'd been seated there all along. Gordon makes his way to the exit, bellowing one final farewell as he does._

GORDON:

KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, FELLAS! REMEMBER: PURSUE, CAPTURE, AND INCARCERATE! GOTTA FLY, NOW!

**221\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, BEDROOM – DAY**

_Caroline Earle sits on her bed. Resting across her lap is Sirite, nibbling delicately at a stalk of celery. Caroline stares ahead at the wall, looking at nothing in particular. She habitually strokes the soft pelt of her precious rabbit._

_Her attention is drawn to the unopened Music Box on her nightstand. Caroline longingly gazes at the gold and red box, painful, repressed desires returning. She gently fingers it, tracing it's pentagonal shape with her bright red nails. She puts her hand in the position to turn the key and open it, but cannot not find the muscle strength to do so. She removes her hand once more and the box remains closed..._

_From the study, Caroline hears the telephone ringing. She gently places Sirite back into her cage and rushes off to answer the call._

**222\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – DAY**

_Caroline picks up the receiver._

CAROLINE:

Hello...

_For a moment, there is no response. Then, a familiar voice calls out, heavily distorted and barely audible..._

WINDOM:

I'm sinking...

CAROLINE:

Windom! Is that you?

WINDOM:

I'm sinking...

CAROLINE:

Where are you!?

_The line goes dead._

CAROLINE:

Windom?! Windom! No!

_Caroline is devastated, holding the phone tightly to her face as she drops to her knees and weeps._

**223\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – DAY**

_Dale enters the house, out of breath from his haste. He comfortingly holds Caroline by the shoulders. Her mascara is runny from the recent flow of tears._

DALE:

I came as soon as I could. Are you alright?

_Caroline tries her hardest to breathe deeply and speak slowly, determined not to be overcome by hysteria._

CAROLINE:

Yes, I'm fine. I got the call exactly two minutes before four.

_Caroline leads Dale towards the phone. As she is talking, Dale discreetly checks the wire tap that he installed underneath._

CAROLINE:

The call only lasted a few seconds. It was like he was in a daze, and all he said was that he was sinking, he was sinking... He repeated it two times, and then he was gone...

_The tap pulls up as incomplete. Only an area code was uncovered._

DALE:

Here, sit down.

_Dale gestures for Caroline to sit on the sofa. As she does so, Dale sits next to her and holds her by the hand. He allows Caroline to vent her feelings, and witnesses her break down for the first time since he'd met her._

CAROLINE:

I know it was him! I recognized his voice, but... why would he call me only to say that he's sinking? What does that mean? He sounded so strange. Like he was on drugs or something... I'm so worried, now, Dale. I tried to stay strong. I really tried. But now...

_Caroline's eyes wet and her voice breaks, her composure bending to the surfacing grief._

CAROLINE:

I... I promised myself I wouldn't cry until we knew, either way. But, I can't keep... I can't stay...

_Caroline sobs desperately and Dale holds her close, growing ever more conflicted of his feelings and angry at the world._

CAROLINE:

He was always the one that gave me strength...

**224\. INT. PITTSBURGH MORGUE – NIGHT**

_The windowless morgue is as cold and inhospitable as always. Dale, Bill and Aldo are listening as Albert updates them. The second faceless corpse lies on the table behind. Special Agent Aldo is eating a deluxe Cobb salad from a large plastic container._

ALBERT:

Say "hello" to two-bit crook Jimmy Lester. As with our previous stiff, this one comes complete with a long list of arrests, mostly minor. If the two had any connections, best of luck finding them. Nevertheless, another lowlife is off the streets, which means that our perp seems to be engaging in his own excessive brand of community service. Also, I've determined that both pairs of hands you found belong to the bodies. They were kept refrigerated, which explains why they aren't as overripe as everything above the wrist.

_Bill speaks with a lack of enthusiasm emphasized by his sarcasm._

BILL:

Okay. Thanks, Albert. Looks like it's time to delve deep into Jimmy Lester's backstory. I love acting as biographer for deceased lowlifes. This case just keeps getting funner and funner.

_Aldo pipes up, his mouth full of runny boiled egg._

ALDO:

"More fun".

BILL:

What?

ALDO:

"Funner" isn't a word. It's "more fun".

_Long pause as Bill stares daggers at Aldo._

BILL:

… There's no food allowed in here.

_Aldo looks up at Bill as if that had been the most gravely offensive thing anyone has ever said to him. The two Agents march outside the morgue without a word. Dale's face is hollow and unfeeling, and he turns to leave as well. Albert calls after him._

ALBERT:

Just a minute, Agent Cooper...

_Albert removes his rubber gloves with a loud, elastic snap and approaches Dale. He speaks quickly, as if the following is very difficult to say._

ALBERT:

I just wanted to take this opportunity to inform you that you're an excellent Special Agent. I've been consistently impressed by your performance since you've been assigned here. I might also add that I look forward to working with you in the field more often in the weeks and months to come.

_Dale is taken aback by this development, but quickly accepts it and smiles warmly._

DALE:

Thank you, Albert.

_Albert swiftly swats all sentimentality aside._

ALBERT:

No thanks necessary. I'm a curt man and I'm always forthcoming with my feelings. I hope your partner is found quickly, and I'm so sorry for any pain his absence must cause you.

_Albert clears his throat._

ALBERT:

If you'll excuse me, I need to clean up before I retire for the evening. You know the way out.

_Albert turns and does not look back. Lost in a sense of wonder, Dale leaves with a grin. We slowly fade to black and remain..._

**225\. DREAM SEQUENCE**

_Through the mind's eye of an unknown dreamer, we see a series of different scenes strung together, accompanied by a deep booming of feedback. As each scene transitions, the image momentarily fizzles with static..._

_A red mining light is flashing in darkness and a hellish siren is blaring. The sound continues throughout..._

_A blurry figure is stepping forward out of blackness._

_We travel across a giant Chessboard, squeezing between the massive pieces of white and black, already poised against one another, mid-game._

_The Albino falls to her knees, sobbing with devastation. A wall of fire envelops her from behind._

_The blurry figure comes closer through the looming blackness, and we can see it is a man._

_In the Red Room, a __Capuchin __Monkey curiously peeks out from behind a curtain._

_The Fountain is overflowing with running blood._

_Killer Bob is screaming with jealousy like a bloodthirsty wolf._

_The Little Man smiles and rubs his hands together, enjoying a bowl of Creamed Corn on the Formica table before him._

_The blurry figure finally comes into focus. It is the Dark Man, wearing a black suit and tie. His face is hidden under a filthy, ragged potato sack, but we can see ravenous, vicious eyes peering out from behind two slits that have been crudely cut into the material. The Dark Man laughs with malicious delight._

_Phillip Jeffries is in a gray, stone room. He screams into the sky in tortured anguish._

_The Giant stands amongst trees, shaking his head in grief._

_An abandoned, wrecked automobile is left alone in the forest. Out of the doorway flies a Giant Horned Owl. It swoops directly at us._

_We hold on a sea of stars in deep space. The hellish siren blaring finally ceases, but the feedback of bass is louder than ever. We slowly fade..._

**226\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – DAY**

_After we hold on black and the final sounds of feedback have dissolved into nothing, we fade to the relaxed atmosphere of the Pittsburgh office. It has just been opened for the morning, the florescent light bulbs still buzzing as they warm to life._

_Bill Raum painstakingly scrutinizes through a dossier, moaning as he rifles through pages of police reports. Sitting at the next desk, Aldo Smith wears a bib with a yellow ducky embroidered upon it. He is cracking open crab claws with a metal shelling utensil and loudly sucking out the meat within. A small tub of butter is nearby, which he uses to drench his delectables in._

BILL:

This Lester was a real sad sack... Look here, he got his car towed for parking next to a fire hydrant. After they impounded it, they found the stolen money from a robbery in the trunk. What an asshole...

_Aldo comments, oil and butter forming a ring around his mouth._

ALDO:

Ain't nice to speak ill of the dead...

_Bill glares back at him with a blank expression._

ALDO:

I'm just sayin'... Watch your karma, that's all. I know he was a scumbag and all, but you gotta show a little respect...

_Bill rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath._

BILL:

Yeah, we'll see how much respect you get when your time comes...

ALDO:

Ha! You're goin' first, gramps!

_Out in the hall, the elevator rumbles to life as it climbs up to the office floor. The lift reaches the office level, but remains closed for an unusually long time. The monitors of the security cameras that watch the hall begin to glitch, the live feed being interrupted by fuzzy static. After a few moments of tense silence, the shaky elevator doors slide open..._

_Windom Earle staggers out, exhausted, dehydrated, and delirious. He clumsily steps into the middle of the office, directly between Bill and Aldo's desks, and collapses to the floor. Bill jumps up and runs to his side. Aldo takes only a moment to remove his bib, and then does likewise._

**227\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, LOBBY – DAY**

_The revolving doors are slammed open as Dale Cooper dramatically enters the hospital. Eyes focused dead ahead, taking no time to acknowledge any other occupants of the lobby, Dale briskly darts directly towards Windom's room. He reaches the door, pausing only to glance through the window before entering._

_Laying in bed, seemingly uninjured, Dale sees his partner. Caroline sits at Windom's side, holding his hand. Bill and Aldo stand against the wall, attentively. The dark dread that had been poisoning Dale's heart for days instantly drains away and he breathes his first unbridled sigh of relief. Caroline looks up at him, her once weary eyes awash in a new coat of rapture. The two friends gleam at one another._

**228\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, WINDOM'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_We fade to the same hospital room later that night. Caroline and Dale are the only people who remain, both seated beside Windom's bed. Caroline has fallen asleep and her head rests on Dale's willing shoulder. Dale is wide awake, his mind filled with more questions than answers..._

**229\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, WINDOM'S ROOM – DAY**

_We fade again to the following morning. Both Dale and Caroline are now asleep. The calm stillness that settles over the room is disturbed when Windom softly stirs in his bed. With a dull murmur, he tries to utter something intelligible. Dale awakens, carefully lifting Caroline's head up and resting it back upon the chair as he leans forward. Windom struggles with his words, but his first sentence since returning eventually emerges..._

WINDOM:

H-h-h... How's Caroline?

_Dale smiles._

DALE:

She's fine. We're all fine.

_Windom shades his unaccustomed eyes from the brightness coming in through the window._

WINDOM:

Is that the Sun?

DALE:

Yes.

_Windom nods._

WINDOM:

Good.

_His mind still wracked and his curiosity insatiable, Dale endeavors to try and get any information out of Windom that he can._

DALE:

Can you tell me about the events of the past four days?

WINDOM:

You're a good student, Coop...

DALE:

The last four days. Do you remember where you were?

_Windom chuckles, which transforms into a cough._

WINDOM:

Cracks in the door...

_Dale is taken aback by this cryptic comment. He tries to press further._

DALE:

What did you see?

WINDOM:

See?

DALE:

Yes, what did you see?

WINDOM:

Dale Cooper...

DALE:

What did you see?

WINDOM:

The Abyss, Coop. The Abyss.

DALE:

What did you find there?

WINDOM:

Find?

DALE:

Yes.

_Windom smiles very strangely._

WINDOM:

Wonderful things.

_And with that, Windom returns to sleep. Dale is left to ponder the meaning behind their unusual exchange..._

**230\. EXT. COUNTY GENERAL – NIGHT**

_Some time later, Dale has stepped out in front of the hospital to get some air. He paces back and forth along the parking lot, narrating into his tape recorder. Behind him are a group of doctors and surgeons, still wearing their scrubs and white jackets, indulging themselves in a smoky, cough-inducing cigarette break. The wet, phlegmy hacking of the medical staff can be heard between each breath of Dale's morose introspection._

DALE:

What happened to Windom over the last several days we may never know. He remembers nothing, at least nothing that appears to be of any use for solving the riddle of the murders and his disappearance. I am sure that the meaning of looking into the Abyss and seeing "wonderful things" is the key to what happened to him, but this also will remain a mystery. He does not remember our earlier conversation. Is my dream connected somehow to this? A legless man telling me I cannot run from "It". Corpses without hands. The Abyss, and "wonderful things"... I sense a darkness behind all of this. But, I cannot put the pieces together. What happened to him is as much a secret to him as it is to the rest of us. I welcome his return. Possibly, the two of us can fit the puzzle together. For now, he says he looks forward to a quiet game of Chess.

**231\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – DAY**

_The office has been decorated for Windom's return home party. A long table is set against the wall, it's spread including a carrot cake, paper plates and cups, and a bowl of spiked red punch. Up on the wall above is a banner with "_Welcome Back Windom!_" written nearly illegibly on it. Aldo stands at the top of a ladder, straightening the banner. Bill stands further down the ladder, arguing with him from below._

BILL:

Look at that... You can barely read it! Who puts light green lettering on a dark green banner?

ALDO:

Well, yaknow what? Maybe if I did such a bad job... then, maybe you shouldn't have put me in charge?

BILL:

What kind of excuse is that? "You know I'm incompetent, so it's your fault if I screw up"? Okay.

_The faded blue elevator doors slide open and Windom limps into the room. He is assisted on either arm by Dale and Caroline and followed by Gordon Cole. Bill looks down at the crowd, fussing that the room has not been readied, yet._

BILL:

I thought he wasn't coming for another hour!?

_Aldo grins childishly and improvises. He throws his arms out and a hail of secretly concealed confetti rains down to the floor. He honks on a kazoo which seems to have materialized from nowhere._

ALDO:

Surprise!

BILL:

We're not set up, yet...

_Bill climbs down, clumsily stepping into the punch bowl. Red punch splashes onto his pant leg and onto the floor, permanently staining everything in it's path. Windom smiles and waves away their unimportant concerns over showmanship._

WINDOM:

Please, please... It matters not. Thank you so much for the warm welcome.

_Windom smiles, glad to be back amongst familiar surroundings._

**232\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – DAY**

_A tape deck has been installed and set up with speakers, and relaxing jazz music is playing. Everyone is gathered together, drinking, laughing, and having a rollicking time. In a small circle, Windom, Dale and Gordon are sharing a private moment. Well... as private as any moment with Gordon Cole could be..._

GORDON:

SURE IS A RELIEF TO HAVE YOU BACK WITH US, EARLE! GAVE US ALL QUITE A FRIGHT, YOU KNOW!

WINDOM:

I can assure you, it was all the more frightening for me...

GORDON:

GOTTA HAND IT TO COOP, THOUGH! HE REALLY KEPT A LEVEL HEAD DURING YOUR ABSENCE!

_Windom looks upon his best friend with pride and gratitude, resting his arm across his shoulder._

WINDOM:

Yes. Dale has become quite the noble protégé.

DALE:

All I did was apply the skills that you've taught me, Windom.

WINDOM:

Don't be so modest. If my pedagogy is worth a damn, the proof rests entirely within the abilities of my apprentice. And Dale, here, receives an A+ distinction for his performance, that's for certain.

_They all chuckle together, although judging by Gordon's neck craning and facial straining, it doesn't appear as though he caught everything. Windom becomes more serious._

WINDOM:

In all sincerity... It takes a situation like this to find out just how deeply seeded the roots of friendship are. Know that if roles had been reversed, I would have spared no amount of effort or resource in order to find you. I am forever indebted to you, both for your tireless efforts towards my recovery, and for tending to Caroline in my absence.

DALE:

Thank you, Windom. My only hope is that we can go back to our daily Chess games as if nothing had ever happened...

_Windom smiles in complete agreement. He takes his hand and tweaks Dale's nose, prompting them to both share an intimate snigger._

**233\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – NIGHT**

_The front door opens and Windom and Caroline return home together for the first time in nearly a week. Windom removes his coat and Caroline removes her shoes. They both look around the empty house, then at each other, unable to find any words to say. None need to be. Windom approaches Caroline and gently wraps his hands around her waist. Their mutual heat growing, they quickly make a beeline for the bedroom._

**234\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Sirite is snacking on bits of carrot that have been left on the floor of her cage. She is thrilled, as always, to see her gentle mistress, but she's also happy to see the return of her co-owner after such a long absence._

_Windom and Caroline kiss sloppily as they hurriedly remove their clothing. Caroline lays back on the bed, lifting her shirt up, unveiling her flat, smooth belly. She gazes up at Windom with vulnerable, needy eyes and softly whispers..._

CAROLINE:

Move me...

_Windom delicately places his hand upon her stomach, slowly moving it around in circles. Caroline opens her mouth and whispers a moan of delight, her body squirming up and down. She takes Windom's free hand and traces the outlines of her lips, gently sucking on his thumb. Windom looks down at the beautiful woman in his grasp whom he had not touched for so long. His hold upon her is so soft that it is barely even existent..._

_Abruptly, Windom clutches Caroline's mouth and stomach, roughly. She gasps in surprise. Windom shushes and soothes her._

WINDOM:

Shh, shh, shh... It's okay... It's just me... I've got you...

_Rendered utterly malleable, Caroline is completely within Windom's control and is physically incapable of moving. Both __love__rs look at one another in a frozen moment that seems to stretch out forever... Windom whispers in her ear..._

WINDOM:

I want to try something different...

_Awash in uncertainty, but trusting her husband's judgment, Caroline does not resist, letting her body go limp and giving herself willingly. Windom flips her over and steps up onto the bed. In a position similar to that of a pair of wild animals, Windom penetrates Caroline from behind._

_The bed creaks as they go back and forth. It is not a soft and sensual gliding. It is a rough and aggressive pounding. Caroline emits noises, but they are not moans of pleasure, they are grunts of discomfort. Windom grabs her arm so harshly, red finger marks are left behind on her white skin. He pushes her head down into the pillow and produces orgasmic groans as he thrusts harder and heavier, but his sounds are angry and violent. Before he can climax, Caroline begins crying._

_Sirite is watching all of this from her cage. Even though she can not understand the full complexities of human sexuality, she can tell that this is different than what her mistress usually does, and is certain that she does not like it. The rabbit turns around and retreats to the back of it's cage, unable to watch the spectacle before her. Caroline cannot bare another second and forcibly breaks away from Windom..._

CAROLINE:

Stop it! Stop it! I can't take that!

_Caroline is overcome by an uncontrollable fit of sobbing. It is not merely from the physical pain of the experience, but mostly because she couldn't bear how it made her feel. Windom faces her, hurt from the rejection._

WINDOM:

What's wrong? It's just me... I only wanted to try something different...

CAROLINE:

I don't like that, Windom! I never want it to be like that!

_Windom reaches over to soothingly wipe the tears from Caroline's eyes. Overtaken by emotion, Caroline pushes his hand away. Crushed, Windom excuses himself._

WINDOM:

You don't want me...

_Windom vacates the bedroom and Caroline is left alone in their bed. She empties all the misplaced emotions and compounding frustration of the last week that came to a culmination in that preceding moment, her face bleeding rivers of tears. Sirite despairs for her mistress' heartache._

_Caroline looks down at the unopened red and gold Music Box that rests on the bedside table beside her and __fear__s that she will never find reason to open it again..._

**235\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_We fade to the same bedroom, hours later in the night. Caroline is alone, Windom having opted to remain in the living room and give her some space. Exhausted from her disappointment, her heart-broken offense, and an unavoidable self-loathing, she has passed out into a merciful slumber... But, her mind is filled with new, disturbing visions..._

**236\. INT. CAROLINE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Caroline wakes up to find herself laying in a different, but unmistakably familiar, bed. The satin blankets are lavender and the cushions have pictures of bunnies embroidered upon them. Resting beside her head is a fluffy, plush, white rabbit doll with buck-teeth, a pot belly, and long, floppy ears. Caroline gives it a squeeze as she sits upright. Looking down at herself, she notices that she is dressed in a white nightgown with a floral pattern. Surveying her surroundings, she realizes that this is the bedroom of her childhood..._

_Caroline stands up to explore, distant memories returning to her... Her full-body mirror is adorned with sketches that she'd long ago etched in colored pencil, along with pin-up photos of Jimmy Dean and Elvis Presley. On the cabinet below are drawers of make-up, glitter and nail polish. Her meager wardrobe has only a small selection of frilly dresses and gowns hanging from the rack, but a sizable collection of shoes scattered upon the floor. The far wall has a single window, and the full Moon is beaming in from high above in the heavens. In the corner of the room is a large hope chest which begs to be opened..._

_Though she can remember all too well what single, sacred item is kept locked inside, Caroline feels the need to revisit it again, personally. She forces herself to come closer, even though something inside is pleading with her to leave it be. She clicks open the latch and lifts up the lid of the massive trunk, pulling out it's contents._

_In Caroline's hands are a ballerina dress and a pair of slippers. They look as though they have never been used. She holds the items close to her, sniffing the fragrance that she hasn't experienced for over a decade. Tears form in her eyes as she realizes that she has never worn these items, and never will..._

_Caroline's attention is pulled towards the door of her bedroom when a gentle knock raps, and an accompanying voice beckons..._

DARK MAN:

Hello, Caroline...

_Startled, Caroline turns toward the door. She tries to muster courage, but her pitiful voice comes out sounding like a timid mouse._

CAROLINE:

Who's there?

DARK MAN:

Someone who loves you with all of his heart...

_Caroline puts the ballerina dress back inside the chest and closes the lid. She retreats to the irrational feeling of safety found within her bed._

CAROLINE:

What do you want?

DARK MAN:

To express my sorrow over what just happened between you and Windom... I know you weren't ready for an experience like that... But, I also know that somewhere, deep inside, a part of you enjoyed it...

_Caroline crawls under the covers and holds her bunny tightly, shaking her head in denial. She does not answer as the stranger pesters her further._

DARK MAN:

You're only lying to yourself if you say that's not true... No matter how much it sickens you to admit... you love to be treated like a filthy animal, don't you?

_Caroline mouths the word "no" as she buries her face in her fluffy bunny._

DARK MAN:

You're a dirty, rotten girl, aren't you? I know your kind all too well. That blustery buffoon Windom is old news, my dear. He's not nearly man enough for the likes of you. Only a versatile gentleman such as I has the talents to fulfil your carnal desires. I just know you're going to love me as much as I love you, once you get a taste...

_The Dark Man bashes against the door with a thunderous force only once, rattling it against it's frame, then continues to speak in his soothing, reserved tone._

DARK MAN:

I could break down this door if need be... but I want you to let me inside, willingly. I know you'll do it... given time. You just need to become accustomed to me, that's all... I feel a little different... but you'll adapt. You'll grow to love me. I'm certain of it...

_Caroline pulls the blankets up over her head and cries._

DARK MAN:

Goodnight, Caroline. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite.

_We slowly fade out on the shivering, devastated Caroline._

**237\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, DINING ROOM – DAY**

_The following morning, Caroline sits alone at the dining room table, her preoccupied gaze aimed out the window. Splats of light rainfall patter against the glass and streak down the pane. Her jittery hand holds a cup of coffee close, the steam warming her face. She is still noticeably upset from her previous night._

_Windom is dressing for work behind her. He is looking at himself in a mirror which hangs upon the wall, straightening his tie. But, Windom does not look as though he's slept well, clearly feeling guilty for last evening's occurrence. He looks at his wife with apologetic eyes._

WINDOM:

I'm off to work now. Is there anything I can get you on my way home, tonight?

_Caroline doesn't respond. Successful in making himself look suitably presentable, Windom walks over to her and speaks softly._

WINDOM:

We can talk about what happened, if you'd like? When I get back?

_Caroline just nods her head, but neither answers nor looks at him. In frustration, but not in anger, Windom leaves out the front door. Caroline is left gazing out the window, grasping for understanding of something which she cannot see..._

**238\. EXT. PITTSBURGH STREETS, WINDOM'S CAR – DAY**

_Inside Windom's Federal issue vehicle, the two partners are driving along the streets together towards a crime scene. Dale Cooper is looking out the window, gazing at the light rain on the asphalt and the other automobiles splashing through puddles._

WINDOM:

Women are impossible to read... Do you know this, Dale?

DALE:

How do you mean?

WINDOM:

They are magnificent creatures, women. Truly our better halves. They sustain that crucial balance we all need, and we are undeservedly blessed to share this world with them... but, they are impossible to read.

DALE:

Is this about Caroline?

_Dale's voice contains something more than merely the concern of a friend._

WINDOM:

Don't mention to her that I've told you anything. She hates to show any weakness to others...

DALE:

You can count on my discretion.

WINDOM:

Ever since I've returned... we've been having difficulty picking up the pieces. I'm terrified that it's because of something I've done... For all the strength of our love, I can be hopelessly tactless at times... I just wish I could make her feel better... but I fear I cannot.

_Dale looks back out the window, left in silence to consider what he can do to help, and what place he has to interfere..._

**239\. EXT. THE BLUFFS, EARLE HOUSE – DAY**

_Dale is driving alone in his Federal issue car, slowly passing through Earle's neighborhood. A fresh cup of coffee is in his hand and a box of doughnuts is on the passenger seat, beside. As he approaches his partner's house, he slows down his car and puts it into neutral._

_Still affected by the news of Caroline's depression, Dale takes a few moments to monitor the house from outside. Through the window, Dale can see the dining room. Sitting at the table is Caroline. The warmth, enthusiasm and contention that was previously synonymous with her presence is completely absent from her face. Instead, she appears dead of emotion, a sense of futility and loss permeating her sense of worth and fulfillment._

_As Dale watches this woman whom he feels absolute, unconditional respect for, he feels her sadness crossing into his own heart. Not wanting to feel like a voyeur, Dale drives on. But, he is compelled to figure out some way in which he can help..._

**240\. INT. DALE'S PITTSBURGH APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_Dale is sitting in his bed, dressed in his flamboyant cherry red thermal underwear. He is reading from "_The Collected Poems of Shelly_". As he flips through pages, he comes across one particular piece which grabs his attention. He begins to read it aloud..._

DALE:  
"And the Sunlight clasps the earth  
And the Moonbeams kiss the sea  
What is all this sweet work worth  
If thou kiss not me...?"

_Moved by the particular passage, Dale reaches for his tape recorder, struck with inspiration._

DALE:

Diane, I'm going to need some 10 pt. card stock, colored pencils, an airbrush, and some acetate stencil templates. It's time to employ my hand at a bit of arts and crafts.

**241\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, DINING ROOM – DAY**

_Caroline walks around the house aimlessly, dressed only in a bathrobe and lacking the energy or drive to bother dressing up. She sits down at the dinner table, sorting through her mail. Beneath the piles of useless adverts and unwanted bills, she finds a lavender envelope with "_to Caroline – from a fan_" written across it's front. Caroline carefully opens it up and pulls out a hand-constructed letter._

_On the inside is a crude, but thoughtful illustration of a tranquil field filled with white bunnies. A poem is scribed in hand-stenciled letters, set over the picture, accompanied by an addendum. The letter was clearly constructed with painstaking effort and detail, all the more evident by the apparent lack of honed artistic skill displayed by it's creator. Caroline reads the contents of the letter aloud with a whisper._

CAROLINE:

"The fountains mingle with the river  
And the rivers with the ocean,  
The winds of Heaven mix forever  
With a sweet emotion;  
Nothing in the world is single;  
All things by law divine  
In one spirit meet and mingle.  
Why not I with thine? –  
See the mountains kiss high Heaven  
And the waves clasp one another;  
No sister flower would be forgiven  
If it disdained its brother;  
And the Sunlight clasps the earth  
And the Moonbeams kiss the sea:  
What is all this sweet work worth  
If thou kiss not me?

Sometimes we forget how many friends we have

– One of the many people that loves you"

_Caroline puts her hand to her face. Never in all her life has she received such a sincere and heartfelt gesture as this. Her built up feelings of resentment, futility and self-doubt are replaced by confidence, warmth and a renewed purpose. Her smile returns, but so does an overwhelming flow of tears. But, these cathartic tears are brought on by a cleansing joy, and they contain a necessary rejuvenation. They run as bountifully as any of the tears of the past two weeks, but twice as strong... Somewhere inside, Caroline instantly knows who this letter is from..._

CAROLINE:

Dale...

_We slowly fade out..._

**242\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – DAY**

CAPTION:

January 20th, 1985

5 and a half months later

_After a long hold on black, we return to the Earles' comfortable study, months later. Bach fills the air. Dale Cooper and Windom Earle sit at their familiar seats, engaged in yet another consecutive daily Chess match. Caroline Earle looks on from the side, stroking her little bunny, Sirite. Every once in awhile, Caroline sneaks a glace towards Dale when neither men are paying attention, but quickly repositions her gaze elsewhere when they look up. Dale and Windom make small talk over their game, as usual._

DALE:

Bookkeeping informs me that I've accumulated enough hours for a vacation. I'm not particularly ecstatic about the idea, but it is mandatory. Ten days of forced exile... Whatever shall I do with myself?

WINDOM:

Get out of Pittsburgh, for one thing. Bend to the whims of that world traveller you keep locked up inside.

_Windom advances a Chess piece._

DALE:

Yes, I'd already convinced myself that I must be proactive. But, I'm not sure where I should go. It's been quite a few years since I've traveled, and there's so many spots on the globe that I can feel calling to me. I was thinking about heading up North, maybe see Canada or the Pacific Northwest. I've never been up that way.

WINDOM:

In January? The blood is sure to freeze in your veins! Head South. Bask in the warm Caribbean Sunlight and enjoy a different class of people who've learned how to appreciate the subtle values in life that can only be found when one slows down and spends time searching for them.

_Dale's face is lit up like a firecracker._

DALE:

Aces! Any suggestions on where I should stay?

_Windom and Caroline exchange glances._

WINDOM:

Well, actually... there is one place I could recommend in the Dominican Republic. A little hotel named "La Casa El Corazon".

CAROLINE:

Windom and I went there on our honeymoon.

WINDOM:

Spacious rooms and comfortable furnishings. Nestled right between the city and the beach.

CAROLINE:

I can still remember walking across that sandy beach all those years ago...

WINDOM:

I can get you a good rate.

_Dale is enthused, grinning from ear to ear._

DALE:

Sold! My first Caribbean experience awaits! My only regret is that our nearly perfect streak of daily Chess matches will have to be interrupted.

_Dale moves a piece on the Chessboard, triumphantly._

DALE:

Check!

WINDOM:

Excellent move, Dale! Excellent! Well, as it happens, I can think of quite a valuable consolation. There is on old man on that island who taught me everything I know about the game. If you're seeking a real lesson... I suggest you seek him out.

_Windom makes a Chess move in retaliation._

WINDOM:

Checkmate.

_Dale is stunned at his comeuppance, then smiles. The two best friends laugh long and heartily together._

**243\. EXT. FREIGHTER – DAY**

_Dale stands on the edge of a freighter boat sailing towards the Dominican Republic. The boat hops up and down along the bobbing waves. Dale's head tosses from side to side as he gazes into the distance. He is dressed comfortably in a short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants. He enjoys the salty breeze on his face, and the direct rays of Sunlight warm him down to his very marrow. A scruffy, dirt-stained SKIPPER is rushing about the deck, multitasking several necessary seamanship duties simultaneously. He is the only visible crewman on the entire vessel._

_A stuffy, blustery old TRAVELING ENGLISHMAN __**[Peter Bromilow]**__ strolls up beside Dale. He is impeccably dressed in layers of waistcoats and jackets, the entirety of which seems far too warm for the climate, and a monocle is inserted between his chubby cheek and brushy brow. His mouth is camouflaged under a handlebar mustache, completely white in color._

ENGLISHMAN:

I say there, dear boy! Shipping off to the ol' DR for a spot of R&amp;R, are we?

DALE:

Yes. That's my plan, precisely. Nothing but relaxation and peace of mind.

ENGLISHMAN:

Capital. Have you been this way before?

DALE:

Nope. First time in the Caribbean.

ENGLISHMAN:

Oh, it's a simply ripping locale! Simply ripping! You'll have a smashing time, I should expect.

_Dale inhales a hearty sample of the local air quality._

DALE:

I've never breathed air this fresh in all my life.

ENGLISHMAN:

Yes, quite. Rather takes one back a bit, first time, doesn't it? Mind you, blue skies all the way. And, the indigenous peoples are simply lovely.

_The Englishman turns towards the Skipper and shouts at him in a slow and poorly pronounced pigeon Spanish._

ENGLISHMAN:

¡HOLA! BUEN DIA PARA USTED!

_The Skipper does not look up at the hopeless traveler, focusing instead on maintaining the ship. He mutters something under his breath._

SKIPPER:

¡Buen dia britanico bueno para nada! Estupido...

ENGLISHMAN:

Simply lovely. Oh, yes. Do enjoy yourself, then.

_The Englishman merrily makes his way for another leisurely stroll around the deck. Dale continues smiling and gazing towards the enclosing islands ahead._

**244\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale opens the door to the room he had booked, finding himself pleased with what he finds. The décor is in keeping with the charming Spanish architecture and the walls are coated in soft tan shades. Dale plants his sensibly sized bag of luggage near the foot of his bed. The furnishings of the room are sparse, but quaint, and decently comfortable. Dale looks back and forth, satisfied that he has everything he needs with which to enjoy himself._

_Dale moves over to the windows, adjusting the red curtains to peer outside. Down below, an old Black man sits alone at a table in the center of the dirt courtyard. Dale cannot tell for certain, but he suspects that the table is a Chessboard..._

**245\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, DINING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale is sitting in the small but tasteful dining room, heartily enjoying a delightful Spanish-style seafood dinner. A cute, bashful DOMINICAN WAITRESS walks past, eying Dale shyly. Noticing her interest, Dale endeavors to spark a dialogue._

DALE:

This fish is excellent.

DOMINICAN WAITRESS:

… ¿Qué?

_Dale points with his fork to the piscine platter._

DALE:

Err... Fish. Excellante!

DOMINICAN WAITRESS:

Si, si. Excellante. No tiene muchas espinas y esta bien frito, como debe ser.

_Dale is left at a loss._

DALE:

… I'm afraid my Spanish is very rusty.

DOMINICAN WAITRESS:

¿Rosti?

DALE:

No, no. "Rusty". It means...

_Dale moves his hands about in a pitiful attempt to communicate his meaning to the young girl, but her baffled expression inspires him to give up. He points to the fish and rubs his belly._

DALE:

Fish! Yummy!

DOMINICAN WAITRESS:

¡Oh, sí, sí! ¡Delicioso! ¡Sí!

DALE:

¡Gracias!

DOMINICAN WAITRESS:

¡Por nada!

_The waitress bashfully retreats off to the kitchen, leaving Dale alone to savor the remainder of his meal._

**246\. EXT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, COURTYARD – NIGHT**

_Dust storms circle around the dirt courtyard, which is lit only by a few oil lanterns, swinging to and fro in the warm breeze. Moths flutter around the flames, their skittish shadows being cast across the dirt, elongated into monstrous forms._

_In the darkness, the Electrician sits alone on a rum barrel. Before him is his makeshift Chessboard, carved into a plank which rests atop a crate. The game has already been set up, his side black and the unmanned opposition white. The empty barrel across from him is just begging for company..._

_A thick cloud of dust has filled the courtyard, refusing to dissipate. It is of such a density that whatever lies beyond can hardly be ascertained through the thickly congregated specks of grit. The light cast through the cloud is distorted into an eerie white glow._

_A shadowy being approaches the Electrician from beyond the cloud, it's form becoming clearer with every step. At last, the being emerges through the dust. It is Dale Cooper. He calls to the elderly man._

DALE:

Hello, there!

_Whether he has heard Dale or not, the Electrician does not answer his call. Dale pursues further conversation, regardless._

DALE:

I've heard you were a good teacher.

ELECTRICIAN:

This is true.

DALE:

I was hoping maybe we could share a game. I still have much to learn.

_The old man brightens up at this prospect._

ELECTRICIAN:

A game? Please, sit down.

_The Electrician gestures to the rum barrel opposite of him. Dale sits himself down, not giving away the extreme discomfort which the sharp, coarse steel rim inflicts upon his slender backside. He shakes the old man's wrinkled, bony hand before he makes his opening move._

DALE:

My name's Dale.

ELECTRICIAN:

It is nice meet you, Dale.

DALE:

Likewise... What may I call you?

_The old man slowly, shakily makes his first Chess move._

ELECTRICIAN:

I have been called many, many things in my time. The name of my birth has long since been forgotten. Those that know me well call me "the Electrician".

DALE:

Electrician? Why is that?

_Dale advances a piece on the Chessboard._

ELECTRICIAN:

Did you know that Electricity is what gives us our power? It's what keeps us alive. I have been alive for many, many years, and this is all thanks to my Electricity, you see?

DALE:

Fascinating...

_The Electrician makes a move._

ELECTRICIAN:

Did you also know that our Electricity is where we are most vulnerable? Did you know it can be used against us?

DALE:

No. I did not.

ELECTRICIAN:

Well, now you do.

_Dale chuckles at the aged man's endearing lack of social niceties. Advancing a piece, Dale continues with his questions._

DALE:

How many years have you lived on this island?

ELECTRICIAN:

Longer than you can remember...

_Something in the Electrician's attitude changes, and he is spontaneously filled with a discretionary paranoia. The old man leans forward and stares deeply into Dale's eyes. A bright white light flashes, and suddenly, Cooper is gone._

_In his place is Killer Bob! He sizes up the Electrician, menacingly, and swipes out his hand with intent to ravage. The old man stands up with a shriek and backs away, his heart racing. Bob then promptly disappears in another flash of white light, and is replaced once more by Cooper._

ELECTRICIAN:

¡La muerte!

_Moving as hastily as his old, tired legs can allow, the Electrician abandons the courtyard, leaving the game unfinished. Dale stands up and chases after._

DALE:

What is it?! What's wrong?!

_The Electrician does not answer as he passes under the archway which leads outside._

**247\. EXT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, ALLEYWAY – NIGHT**

_Once the sanctuary of the hotel has been left, the dirty, gritty, heavily-peopled city awaits. Dale pushes his way through the crowd, trying to catch up to the Electrician. Across the street, he spies the old man cowering in a dark alleyway._

DALE:

Please! _Señor_! Did I say something to offend you? What did I do?

_The Electrician points to him in a broad, condemning gesture and loudly proclaims..._

ELECTRICIAN:

There is death in your face! I can teach you nothing!

DALE:

… How do you know that?

_The old man lowers his hand and shakes his head in disappointment._

ELECTRICIAN:

That is the wrong question...

_The Electrician turns around and disappears into the night. Dale is left alone, full of questions and self-doubt..._

**248\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_The morning has come, and with it, Sunlight trickles in through the red drapes, the partition unable to be closed completely. Dale is laying in a thoroughly disheveled bed, clearly having suffered through a rough night's sleep._

_Dale awakens with a start to a gruesome scuffling and wriggling. He jumps out of bed, scanning the room for the source of the noise. He drops to his knees and checks under the bed, finding nothing but dust. Glancing out the window offers no further insight, either. Stopping and listening closely, Dale follows the sound towards the front door of his room. As he turns the knob and opens the door, he is horrified by what awaits him on the other side..._

_A chicken has been nailed to the front door through it's neck. The wretched beast is still alive and writhes around spasmodically in bloody agony, spraying it's innards all over the room. After recovering from the shock, Dale grabs the poor creature by it's head and twists, putting it out of it's misery._

**249\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, LOBBY – DAY**

_Dale charges downstairs, furious, the dead chicken in his hands. He fumes up to the HOTEL REGISTRAR._

DALE:

Excuse me, sir!

REGISTRAR:

¿Qué?

DALE:

Sir, it's not my wish to complain! I've found the service here to be otherwise excellent, your accommodations comfortable, and your clientèle courteous, but this morning I awoke to find a chicken nailed to my front door!

REGISTRAR:

… ¿Qué?

_Dale holds up the bloody chicken, shaking it towards the man, it's lifeless head limply bouncing up and down from it's rubbery neck._

DALE:

A chicken! Nailed to my door! I want to know who's responsible!

REGISTRAR:

¡Ah! Sí, sí, sí! ¿Quiere un plato? Por aquí, por favor!

_The Registrar is motioning towards the dining room, trying to inspire Dale to follow._

DALE:

No, I don't want to eat this chicken! I want to know who nailed it to my door!

_Realizing that he is getting nowhere, Dale tosses the chicken onto the front counter, leaving it for the staff to dispose of. He mutters to himself as he heads towards the courtyard._

DALE:

The old man...

_The Registrar watches him with curiosity. The HEAD WAITER peeks in from the kitchen._

HEAD WAITER:

¿Qué tiene de malo? ¿Es necesario que el pollo esté cocido?

REGISTRAR:

Los estadounidenses tienen un gusto tan exigente...

**250\. EXT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, COURTYARD – DAY**

_Dale searches the dusty courtyard, but, alas, the old man is nowhere to be found. Upon his abandoned table, their Chess game remains preserved exactly as it was the night before. A layer of dust has already collected between the pieces..._

**251\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, SMALL SHACK – DAY**

_We are inside a small, wooden shack. There is not much inside in the way of possessions. The floor is dirt, and a potato sack laid out upon the ground serves as a bed. A single candle lights the room, the hot, white wax dripping down it's side. We are looking out through the wooden doors, which have been left open to the bright, breezy outside world. Dale Cooper rounds the corner and explores the interior of the shack._

_Hanging from the rafters by a knotted old rope is the Electrician. His feet are at Cooper's eye level, and his stiff body slowly sways back and forth. Dale is astonished by this horrible sight, worried that he may have been the inspiration. On the table underneath the old man, next to the melting candle, is a note. Dale picks it up, wiping the hardened wax aside. It reads: "_Forgive. I was just a stupid old man. May God stop him._"_

**252\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale sits on his bed, alone in his room. He is still shaken from the events of the day, and his quivering voice reveals how upset he is. He grieves into his tape recorder with an anger and futility that the microphone has hitherto been unaccustomed to._

DALE:

Who was the old man talking about? Me? The locals say he was just a crazy old man. That may be true, but it is also true that the line dividing genius from insanity is often a very thin one. Whatever it was the old man saw in my face scared him enough to take his own life... And, what was it he was asking forgiveness for?

_Dale clicks off the tape recorder and lays it to rest on the nightstand beside his bed. He lackadaisically rises to ready himself for sleep. Approaching the sink, Dale takes his toothbrush and toothpaste in either hand. Facing his own reflection in the mirror, he peers deeply into his own eyes, trying desperately to find what the old man saw..._

_Dale is squeezing his toothpaste onto his toothbrush as he studies his own visage. Then, due to some unknown compulsion, he begins squeezing the tube from the center, hard. Plops of toothpaste fall to the bottom of the sink, sticking in lumps to the porcelain. Dale puts down the toothpaste and looks back at himself once more. He slowly brings his head close to the mirror and gently taps the surface with his forehead... just to see what it feels like..._

**253\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_Hours later, the lights have all been extinguished and the room is now dark. Dale is tossing and turning in bed, shaking and convulsing. A feverish sweat glazes his body, his nose and eyes are red and inflamed, and his skin has gone staunch white. All his symptoms are that of someone who has taken to a serious illness._

**254\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, DINING ROOM – NIGHT**

_At that exact moment, hundreds of miles away, Windom and Caroline Earle are sitting at the dinner table together, enjoying pork chops. Caroline wears a cute blue woolen sweater with an image of the Moon knitted into it's center. As opera music fills the room, the couple both sit in silence, save for the scraping of utensils against plates and the chewing of food._

_Without warning, the lights are extinguished, casting the room into a consummate darkness. The back door is kicked off it's hinges, clattering to the floor as splinters of wood rain outward. Three brawny masked men plow forward through the doorway, each covered entirely in black and wielding assault rifles. Windom jumps up from the table and screams in protestation._

WINDOM:

NO!

_The butt of a sub-machine gun is swung sidewise through the air in an accelerated curve which ends it's arc connecting turbulently against the back of Windom's skull. On his unavoidable journey to the floor, Windom's forehead thuds loudly against the table._

_A gloved hand wraps around Caroline's mouth, muffling her screams of protest. A second hand forms a clenched fist and slugs her weightily in the gut. Doubled over, the wind knocked out of her, Caroline is further disabled from calling for help._

_The fists of her camouflaged attackers take turns mercilessly pummeling Caroline from all angles. She is beaten about the face and chest over a dozen times until she is sufficiently weakened. Working with the efficiency of a well-trained squadron, one of the men lifts her up by the shoulders while another picks up her feet. Caroline is taken away out through the back door._

_Windom lays dizzily on the ground, the back of his head bleeding out, flopping about like a grounded fish. Seeing the swift attackers vacating, he futilely extends his hand, helpless to save his wife..._

**255\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale clasps his blanket so roughly that his fingernails dig into his palms, drawing blood. He screams into the dark as his nighttime visions are plagued by ominous hallucinatory visions._

DALE:

Caroline! No! I love you! Don't let them take you!

**256\. EXT. THE BLUFFS, EARLE HOUSE – NIGHT**

_The masked men carry Caroline, one by the arms and one by the feet, through the backyard. She wriggles and squirms in their grasp, struggling to remain conscious. Her abductors roughly toss her into the back of a black van and promptly close the double doors on her. Feeling the rocky vehicle pulling away, Caroline is trapped in darkness. She screams, but no one listens..._

**257\. DREAM SEQUENCE**

_Dale convulses violently in his bed. Through Dale's mind's eye, we see series of different images strung together, accompanied by a deep booming of feedback. As each scene transitions, the image momentarily fizzles with static..._

_A blurry figure comes closer and closer from out of the darkness..._

_A Capuchin Monkey reaches it's paw towards us from inside the Red Room._

_The blurry figure comes closer, and it begins to refocus. We can see that it is the Dark Man, dressed in a black suit and tie. His wicked laugh is remorselessly cruel. Over his head is the dirty potato sack with two eye slits._

_Dale can see the drawer pull of his childhood dresser. It opens up to reveal his mother's Golden Ring, which begins to glow._

_The Dark Man removes the potato sack from his head, but underneath is not a human face. It is a Giant Horned Owl. It leaps off the shoulders of the headless body and flies away._

_Dale is staring at himself in a mirror. He headbutts his reflection as hard as he can, breaking through the glass and falling into the other side..._

**258\. INT. LA CASA EL CORAZON, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_The sickeningly wet crack of his head against the mirror wakens Dale with a violent start, and his descent into the mirror world is replaced by a much shorter fall to the floor of his hotel room. He bolts upright and strains to take account of his surroundings, his recent premonitions stained into his memory. Sweat pours off of him and he checks to find that his pulse is erratic. He whispers to himself as he gets up._

DALE:

Caroline... Something's wrong... I must get back.

**259\. EXT. FREIGHTER – DAY**

_Dale tensely grips the edge of the railing, wishing against hope that the boat could move faster. His eyes are transfixed upon the distant speck of America, barely a sliver on the horizon. Dale is still trembling, slightly. He repeatedly checks his pulse, certain there is some foreign agent within his immune system._

**260\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – NIGHT**

_The faded blue elevator doors slide open and Dale emerges. Gordon Cole, Bill Raum, Aldo Smith and Windom Earle are standing around a table, reviewing case info. Windom's head is bandaged, stains of blood seeped through the gauze. Everyone silently looks up at Dale as he marches into the room._

DALE:

Where is she!?

_Windom meets Dale's stare with morose, __fear__ful eyes. No words need to be passed, and Dale begins coming to terms with the shocking reality that she is gone. He wearily approaches Windom and the two grieving comrades hold one another._

**261\. INT. BOILER ROOM – NIGHT**

_Caroline wakes up to find herself strapped to a cold metal table down in a dark boiler room. The floor is littered with gravel and soot, and spiderwebs occupy the damp corners. A behemoth boiler in the center of the room takes up a majority of the floorspace. The bubbling of the water adds a cacophonous layer of white-noise to the underground prison's confining ambiance. Towards the top of the boiler is a large valve that is designed to intermittently release steam when the device is in __fear__ of overheating._

_As soon as her surroundings have registered to her, Caroline screams at the top of her lungs. The gathering of men in the room find this to be thrilling. Ten Dugpas surround Caroline in a semi-circle, humming a deep chant. Archibald Battis is lighting a circle of twelve wax candles placed on the floor around her table. Helper bounces up to Caroline and strokes her hysterical face. He mockingly shushes her as he does so._

HELPER:

Shhh... Shhh... Don't waste your tears, now. Save them. We'll be needing them for later...

_Helper laughs a mad, shrill hooting of perverse adrenaline, and proceeds to jump around the room like a rampant maniac. From behind the boiler emerges the most threatening occupant of the room, by far. It is the Dark Man. He approaches Caroline wearing a black suit and tie and a dirty straw potato sack over his head. His lustful, soulless eyes study her from behind two thin slits._

DARK MAN:

Oh, Caroline... My dearest Caroline... How I loved thee... How I had prayed that I wouldn't have to resort to such excessive measures in order to make you mine. I had tried to ease my way into your favour gradually... but in your infernal consternation, you offered me not an ounce of leeway, did you? You had determined to play hard to get. Well, fear not, for _my_ everlasting love knows no boundaries. Including that of mutual consent.

_The release valve from the boiler pops open and screams with a scorching burst of pressurized steam. The Dark Man opens up his arms towards Caroline as he shouts over the deafening boiler._

DARK MAN:

Let me become a part of you!

_Caroline manages to speak through her nearly muting terror._

CAROLINE:

Who are you!? Let me go!

DARK MAN:

If I let you go, you'd run off back to Windom, your hapless hubby, wouldn't you...

_The Dark Man notices a glimmer of hesitation in Caroline._

DARK MAN:

Or, would you? Is there someone else your mind jumps to in moments of doubt? Could it be... Dale Cooper, perhaps? Hmm?

_The Dark Man waits for a response from Caroline, but gets none apart from trembling._

DARK MAN:

Come on, Caroline! There are no secrets here! I know as well as you, the secret love you harbour for dearest Dale Bartholomew Cooper! What is it about our introspective young lad that gets your gears churning, I wonder? Could it be his debonair demeanour? Soft and gentle on the inside, but firm and strong on the outside. I say, sounds a bit like a toffee bar, doesn't he?

_The Dark Man chuckles, along with his henchmen._

DARK MAN:

He's a true romantic, is he not? A modern day knight in shining armour...

_The Dark Man exaggerates gagging noises and pantomimes vomiting._

DARK MAN:

Doesn't it just make you SICK?!

_The Dark Man screams this last word in bitter hatred. He waits for a response, but gets none._

DARK MAN:

HELPER!

_Having missed his cue, Helper rushes up._

HELPER:

Yes, my Dark Lord?

DARK MAN:

Doesn't Dale Cooper just make you sick?

HELPER:

Noxiously, my lord.

DARK MAN:

I must confess, chivalry has always left a bitter taste on my tongue. But, that's why his flavour will be all the more saccharine when we make him one of us! Isn't that so, my little Helper?

_Helper claps his agreement. The Dark Man feeds him a soda cracker, coddling him like a small animal and tickling the underside of his chin. Helper purrs in satisfaction._

DARK MAN:

You see, Caroline... Helper loves me. I'm an easy man to love, really.

_Caroline avoids making eye contact with her tormentor._

DARK MAN:

If only you could have grown to accept me of your own accord, then all this messy nonsense could have been avoided... If only you'd liked things a bit rougher...

_Caroline shudders at this._

DARK MAN:

But, now you force my hand. Ordinarily, I'm a man of incomprehensible fortitude. But, you bring out my most debilitating vice: Impatience. When it comes to you, I become a needy child.

_Through the holes in the potato sack, the Dark Man rapes her very soul with his eyes._

DARK MAN:

I want my toy now, Mommy...

_ The release valve sends a whistling burst of steam into the air. The Dark Man lurches over Caroline like a ravenous bird of pray over a pile of carrion. Then, abruptly, his demeanor morphs into an idly pleasant compatriot._

DARK MAN:

Do you care for archery?

_Caroline does not answer._

DARK MAN:

Archibald, here, enjoys archery, don't you Archie?

_The Dark Man puts his arm around Battis' shoulder in a chummy fashion._

BATTIS:

Yeah, I like it okay. We had a big target set up in my backyard, growing up.

DARK MAN:

That's my boy, Archie. I couldn't have done all this without Archibald. I wouldn't even be here if not for you, isn't that right?

BATTIS:

Yup. That's right.

DARK MAN:

Do you want a cracker?

_Battis is none too impressed with his master's offer._

BATTIS:

Uhh... Thank you, my Lord. I'm good.

HELPER:

I'll take it...

_The Dark Man cackles long and hard, thoroughly enjoying the camaraderie of his henchmen. After his laughter has subsided, he expectantly extends a hand. Battis equips him with his crossbow._

DARK MAN:

Truly, the most horrendous thing in the world is ennui. The one sin for which there is no penitence.

_The Dark Man loads his crossbow with a razor sharp arrow as he elaborates._

DARK MAN:

Archery has always been of great interest to me. I find that, as a hobby, it effectively quells fits of boredom, should they set in. Through strenuous trial and error, I've stumbled upon an equation which can gauge it's potency. The efficiency of my antidote to tedium is relative to the size and density of the intended target... Do you see this rather porkish fellow, here?

_The Dark Man gestures into the furthest corner of the room, where Fredrick Olcott is tied to a chair. He is no longer housing an inhabiting spirit within him. Rather, he is heavily drugged and mostly unaware of his surroundings._

DARK MAN:

Fredrick served as an excellent vessel for me. He did as he was told, he forgot what he was supposed to, he fainted on cue when doused with a sufficient dosage of chloroform... And, the vocal chords of a true orator. But, alas, all good business relationships must come to an end, sooner or later. When one gets a taste of something as... paragon... as this corporeal existence which you mortals take for granted every day... Well, peering out through a looking glass was no longer enough to sate my appetite. And, now that I'm here in a permanent capacity... Oh, what fun we're going to have! But, alas, poor Fredrick now knows all my secrets. Which means, I fear, that he has got to go...

_The Dark Man aims his crossbow at Fredrick._

DARK MAN:

Happy trails, Freddie! Give my regards to the Abyss!

_The Dark Man fires his crossbow. The arrow sails through the air as another scream of hot steam emits through the echoic chamber. The arrow ends it's journey impaled through Fredrick's neck. Caroline erupts in fits of trauma, turning away to blind her vision of the corpse. The Dark Man hands his crossbow back to Battis and approaches his captive. He puts his hand on Caroline's face, petting her hair, as a way of consul._

DARK MAN:

Shh, shh, shh... There, there... It's over now. The gory part is all over. Here, let me give you a little something to calm your nerves.

_With Helper's assistance, the Dark Man ties a length of rubber tubing around Caroline's arm, pulling taut to expose the outline of her vein. Battis approaches with a sharp needle, removing the plastic covering and tossing it aside. The humming of the Dugpas grows louder as the Dark Man pierces Caroline's arm and injects a strange concoction into her bloodstream. She immediately calms down and stops moving._

DARK MAN:

Now, you just relax... If you'll excuse me, I must attend to a bit of arts and crafts. I must adhere to the Rules. Bad things happen to those who don't follow the Rules...

_Helper hands the Dark Man his bucket of plaster and brush. He walks over to Fredrick's corpse, the arrow still lodged through his neck, and begins splattering plaster upon his face, crafting his Death Mask. As Caroline feels her motor control fading and her body going limp, she finds the strength to ask one final question._

CAROLINE:

… Who are you?

_The Dark Man puts down his bucket and walks directly towards Caroline. He speaks deeply and threateningly._

DARK MAN:

You really want to know who I am, Caroline? I don't know if you can take it...

_The Dark Man removes the bag on his head and reveals himself to her. His frame is rotting and malnourished. His putrefied skin is an undead white and his gritted teeth are a pure black. He mashes his jaw into a savage grimace and snarls. His bitter eyes are hungry for blood. His face is truly the countenance of a demon._

_The release valve unleashes a shriek that fills the room. Caroline whimpers with the last of her energy as she drifts into unconsciousness. The Dark Man stands over her and laughs with sadistic fervor._

**262\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – DAY**

_The blinds of all the room's windows have been shut, casting the entire office in gloomy dimness. Forming a circle around the senior Agent's desk are Dale Cooper, Windom Earle, Bill Raum and Aldo Smith._

_We slowly revolve around the table as the Federal Agents speak with direness and determination. Windom, who sits sullen and listless, still has his assaulted cranium wrapped in bandages. Dale's skin is an unhealthy pallor of white and his eyes are blood red. Aldo's mouth is rimmed with powdered sugar as he munches on fluffy pastries._

BILL:

We've sent a description to every law enforcement office that's equipped with a telephone. If she turns up anywhere within the continental US, we'll hear about it.

DALE:

Good work, Bill.

BILL:

We have no leads, no suspects, no messages of any kind, no ransom, and no motive.

ALDO:

It's not a lot to go on, I'll admit...

_Dale stands up, but loses his balance and uses the desk to steady himself. Bill notices._

BILL:

You don't look so good, Coop. You wanna maybe go lay down for a minute?

_Aldo generously offers Dale a sampling of his snack._

ALDO:

Wanna beignet? Might help.

DALE:

I'm fine.

_Dale makes his way to the window and uses a forefinger to divide the blinds, peering outside._

BILL:

So... Where do we start?

_Dale grimaces with macho bravado._

DALE:

From scratch.

**263\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE, MEETING ROOM – DAY**

_Partners Windom Earle and Dale Cooper segregate themselves from the rest of their team in the private meeting room. Dale closes the door behind them and address Windom with gravity. Windom does his best to absorb every word, but his mind seems partly in another world._

DALE:

The Tibetans have a notion that there is no such thing as an unrelated event, that everything in life is connected. Caroline was abducted at about half past seven pm. By my best estimation, at that exact moment, 1500 miles away, I became ill and fell into a powerful fever which lasted twenty hours. I believe that I was somehow put under the influence of a powerful narcotic. How and when it was administered to me, I have no idea. However, during this sickness I received a string of ambiguous visions. I was filled with a deep, ethereal sense that Caroline was in danger. It is my firm belief that these two events are in some way connected. How and why... I do not yet know.

_Windom has absorbed everything Dale has told him, but can only nod in response._

DALE:

Windom... there's something else... I met the old man on the island who taught you Chess.

WINDOM:

Really?

DALE:

We did not speak much. But, the few words we did exchange seemed to make a profound impact on him. So much so, that, in an act of desperation, he took his own life.

WINDOM:

What did he say to you?

_Dale is surprised that Windom is not remotely distressed to hear of his former mentor's suicide._

DALE:

He... He told me that death was in my face...

_Windom squints his eyes at Dale._

WINDOM:

He's probably right...

_Bereft of emotion, Windom walks away, leaving Dale alone to ponder his partner's bizarre reactions. As Earle exits, Bill peeks his head in through the door._

BILL:

Dale! Gordon's on line one.

_Dale nods as Bill closes the door behind him. He sits on the edge of the meeting desk and turns on the intercom._

DALE:

Hello, Gordon!

GORDON:

HELLO, COOP! IT'S GORDON COLE!

_The intercom sparks as the speakers are being blown. Smoke rises. Dale adjusts the volume before they are destroyed completely._

GORDON:

SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT CAROLINE'S ABDUCTION! I WANT TO THANK YOU FOR STEPPING UP AND TAKING CHARGE!

DALE:

It's the least I can do! Caroline is a cherished friend, and Windom is in no condition to lead this investigation at the moment!

GORDON:

SPEAKING OF AGENT EARLE, THAT'S WHY I'VE CALLED! I'M SURE IT'S OCCURRED TO YOU THAT CAROLINE'S ABDUCTORS ARE MORE THAN LIKELY THE SAME CROOKS THAT PREVIOUSLY NABBED WINDOM! AND, THAT MEANS AN ATTEMPT ON WINDOM'S LIFE IS HIGHLY LIKELY! I WANT YOU TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM 24/7! LEAVE HIS SIDE FOR NO REASON! I KNOW YOU ALREADY HAVE ENOUGH ON YOUR PLATE, BUT YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE I CAN TRUST WITH EARLE'S LIFE!

_Dale looks out at his best friend through the meeting room window. He does not relish being responsible for his safety once more, but he also knows that there is no one else he would struggle harder to protect._

**264\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – NIGHT**

_Empty pie tins line the floor of Earle's ordinarily immaculate study, crumbs spilling over the crumpled edges. A roaring fire blazes in the fireplace, and both Dale Cooper and Windom Earle sit before it, staring into the flickering flames. Steaming hot pieces of fresh, homemade cherry pie sit atop plates on the laps of each man, Windom's accompanied by a fresh cup of coffee, and Dale with a glass of warm milk.._

_Heartbroken and taxed to the limits of their energy, the two Agents are dealing with their grief in the best way they know how. They sit on either side of their secondary home: the Chessboard. As always, Dale plays white while Windom plays black. _

_Windom's face is covered in stubble, and his hair is messy and unwashed. His collar is undone, and his shirt is untucked. Dale's attire is more presentable, but his skin is even more pallid, and his eyelids far more heavily coated in black trim. Windom makes his move on the Chessboard, resting his jaw on his palm, the glowing flames highlighting the contours of his face. He queries Dale in a soft voice._

WINDOM:

Have you ever been in love, Dale?

_Dale considers for only a moment, then assuredly answers._

DALE:

No. My sojourn towards meaningful female companionship has been a rocky road filled with many potholes.

_Windom nods, distantly._

WINDOM:

How did you lose your virginity?

_Dale chuckles at Windom's blunt small talk, but happily shares his past with his best confidant._

DALE:

I was fifteen years old. This was before I'd made it as an Eagle Scout, and I'd spent a week at a Boy Scout's Summer jamboree. Rather then take the bus home with the rest of the children, I chose to trek to the other side of the county on foot. I considered this to be my first "Great Adventure".

_Dale moves forward a piece on the board._

DALE:

On my journey, I met a couple in their twenties named Star and April. They were traveling cross-country in a VW Bus, intending to smoke a joint in every state. They gave me a lift part way, and even let me drive at one point. One night, while Star was asleep, I confided to April that I was still a virgin. She took pity on me, and we made love in a teepee.

WINDOM:

Well done. I think every adolescent male harbours a secret desire to be shown the ways of love by an older, more experienced woman. How did things turn out?

DALE:

That Fall, she was my Sophomore year English teacher. She gave me a D+ on my midterm.

_Windom lets loose a boisterous, wheezy, uproariously laugh. Dale joins him, and the two share a much needed moment of rapture. Once the laughter has subsided and Windom has advanced a Chess piece, he asks an earnest followup question._

WINDOM:

What sort of woman would it take to make you fall in love?

_Dale expels a "hmm" and clicks his tongue as he carefully considers, having never been asked before. He moves a Chess piece._

DALE:

Someone... Someone who can see the world for all it's hidden beauty, even if she must dig through the dirt in order to find it. Someone who takes nothing for granted, and sees even the most commonplace of things as being worthy of interest. Someone with a brightness inside...

_Dale pauses, objectively considering his desires._

DALE:

Someone I can aide in helping their brightness shine forth.

_Windom nods in understanding, moving his Chess piece forward on the board, taking one of Dale's._

WINDOM:

You want to help someone discover their full potential, don't you? You want someone to rescue...

_Dale looks at the Chessboard, too lost in self-reflection to make a move. Reluctantly, he nods his head._

DALE:

I believe you may be right. I do find it undeniably attractive to be someone's rescuer. Do you see that as a weakness?

_Windom reassuringly shakes his head._

WINDOM:

No. Just so long as you succeed.

DALE:

I worry that, perhaps, it's too easy.

WINDOM:

Easy?

DALE:

A woman shouldn't be like a pet, adopted from a rescue clinic. Perhaps I should try to look for someone stronger. An equal, whom I can grow with at an equal pace. As you've said, symmetry in all things.

WINDOM:

It's _all_ about balance.

DALE:

You know... there was this one woman at the academy...

WINDOM:

Yes?

_Dale sighs, some past regrets resurfacing._

DALE:

Sometimes, I merely wonder what that would have been like... She was extraordinary. A better Agent than I, in many respects. What we could have...

_With a grunt, Dale casts the memory aside._

DALE:

The past matters not.

_Dale makes a move. Windom thinks deeply about his next sentence before he says it._

WINDOM:

Would you do whatever it takes to save the woman you love?

_Dale stutters as he searches for an answer._

DALE:

I… I guess we'll find out...

WINDOM:

I guess we will...

_Windom advances his Queen clear across the board._

WINDOM:

Check. Your move.

**265\. EXT. DOWNTOWN PITTSBURGH STREETS – DAY**

_A deranged VAGRANT __**[Lou Reed]**__ is wandering the streets of downtown Pittsburgh. His unwashed hair is filthy and knotted, a crusted strand of which he repeatedly twirls with his right index finger as he walks. The homeless man clearly suffers from mental problems, as well as obsessive compulsive disorder. His clothes are ancient, smelly, stained rags, except for an incongruously new sweater: blue and white wool with an image of the Moon knitted in it's center. It is the shirt that Caroline wore when she was kidnapped. Upon it's surface are dried blood stains._

_On the street corner, an IMPATIENT POLICEMAN __**[Stuart Pankin]**__ is watching every staggering movement of the man with immediate suspicion. He stands with his hands firmly placed on his hips. The vagrant walks towards him and speaks in a guttural voice._

VAGRANT:

Did you know that sometimes a flower will grow where there is no light?

_The cop just glares at him, unimpressed._

VAGRANT:

Do you believe in the Divine One? I do. We will be set free, or we will be destroyed. It's your choice which. Promise me you'll make the right choice.

IMPATIENT POLICEMAN:

Alright, buddy, where'd you get that shirt? And, why are there bloodstains on it?

_The vagrant is blinking oddly. He ceases his curl-twirling and sets to scratching an irritating itch in his scalp. He finds a fat, meaty cockroach crawling around inside his mane of knotted hair. Clenched between thumb and forefinger, he holds the insect up to the light and examines it's wriggling body. Then, he promptly eats it. His snack crunches and squishes as he chews. The policeman twists his face in disgust. The vagrant continues to speak with his mouth full._

VAGRANT:

Sometimes I like to find myself in the flowers. Do you like flowers?

_The policeman's words drip with sarcasm._

IMPATIENT POLICEMAN:

Suuure! I love flowers! Let's go for a ride to the flower shop!

_The vagrant claps with joy._

**266\. EXT. PITTSBURGH STREET, DALE'S CAR – DAY**

_The scenery hurtles by as Dale Cooper pushes the speed limit on his way to the police station. Windom Earle is riding shotgun, glumly watching the raindrops pattering upon the window._

**267\. INT. PITTSBURGH POLICE STATION, INTERROGATION ROOM – DAY**

_Dale and Windom stand in the hallway outside of an interrogation room, looking in through the magic mirror. On the other side, unaware of their stares, sits the vagrant. He is at a wooden table, mumbling dizzily to himself, persistently curling his strand of hair. The policeman briefs the Special Agents._

IMPATIENT POLICEMAN:

I found him at about 8:00 this morning. He was rambling about flowers, or something. Watch out if you're gonna go in there. He stinks to high heaven.

_Dale turns to Windom. He speaks frankly, but makes the effort to be sensitive._

DALE:

Why don't you let me handle this? Just hang back for now, okay?

_Windom nods, yielding to his young partner's discretion. Dale heads in. He carries himself stronger than he's done thus far, immediately commanding the respect of the vagrant._

DALE:

Where did you get the sweater?

VAGRANT:

God gave it to me. God giveth, and God taketh away.

DALE:

Did God say anything to you?

VAGRANT:

He laughed.

DALE:

What did God look like?

_The vagrant shakes his head._

VAGRANT:

If you look at God, you turn to stone.

DALE:

Did God have anyone with him?

VAGRANT:

An Angel with a red face, like Christ's.

_Dale tenses, his heart sinking._

DALE:

What do you mean?

VAGRANT:

Blood.

DALE:

Was this "Angel" a man or a woman?

VAGRANT:

It was an Angel without a sweater. Screamed like a woman when God hurt her.

DALE:

How did you know it was God?

VAGRANT:

Because he told me to carry his message.

DALE:

What was the message?

VAGRANT:

God is everywhere...

_The vagrant stretches out his hands in a grand gesture. Dale considers the implications of this message..._

**268\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – DAY**

_Special Agent Bill Raum is sitting at his desk, carefully sifting through police reports. The intercom goes off with an annoying buzz. Bill flicks the switch to receive and the unattractive nasally voice is heard once more._

INTERCOM:

Sir, I've got an anonymous call, here. He won't give me his name, but he says he wants to speak to a Special Agent.

BILL:

Put him through. But, record it, okay?

_After a few clicks of the call being transferred, Helper's voice is heard on the intercom. He cryptically delivers a message._

HELPER:

She loves him, she loves him not. She is not dead, but her love is. Caroline, Carol, Ca, C, gone.

BILL:

What do you want?

_With a final click, the call ends. Bill pounds the table in frustration._

**269\. EXT. PITTSBURGH STREETS – DAY**

_Dale Cooper is scouring the backstreets where the vagrant was found wandering. On the end of his leash, he leads a German Sheppard who sniffs along the pavement. Other police officers are seen in the background, also with tracking dogs. Dale hears a message, buried in static, emit from on his radio._

BILL:

Dale...

_Dale pulls his hand-held radio from out of his overcoat and answers._

DALE:

Yes, Bill. What is it?

BILL:

We just got a message. I think it's from the kidnappers. I'm more confused now than I was before...

DALE:

I'll be right there.

_Agent Aldo Smith strolls up from somewhere off to the left, chomping on a particularly large cheeseburger. As Dale puts his radio back into his coat, he hands the leash of his dog over to Aldo without asking, and then promptly hustles off towards his vehicle. The carnivorous canine looks up at Aldo from the end of his leash, eying the burger with hungry eyes. With a rumbling growl, he displays his set of razor sharp incisors._

ALDO:

Easy! Easy boy! It's mine! Mine!

_The dog chases Aldo and his cheeseburger off screen._

**270\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE, MEETING ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale and Windom are alone in the private room, the door closed behind them. They listen once more to the recording._

HELPER:

She loves him, she loves him not. She is not dead, but her love is. Caroline, Carol, Ca, C, gone.

BILL:

What do you want?

_Dale turns off the cassette player and faces Windom. He prepares to confide in his partner his deepest suspicions._

DALE:

Caroline has now been missing for seven days, and we still have no indication as to the motives of her abductors. Windom... a very disturbing possibility has been in the back of my mind for some time, now. I've not shared this with anyone, yet, but... I believe that there may be a mole within the Bureau.

WINDOM:

Really?

DALE:

My suspicions were first aroused by the vagrant's words: "God is everywhere". If you take the next logical step, then that means God hears and sees everything. What's more, this message was sent on a secured line that only those within the Bureau have access to. The caller successfully shielded their number from our tracers and deterred every precautionary measure we have. Windom... we are dealing with a mind of immense complexity and cunning. And, he is playing with us. He is so confident in his superiority... that he is giving us the very clues with which to find him.

WINDOM:

Do not speak a word of this to anyone. If what you say is true, than we must be more cautious now than ever.

DALE:

For the time being, I will not mention this to another soul. There's one other thing, Windom. With your permission, I would like to put you under hypnosis. I still firmly believe that your abductors and Caroline's are one and the same. I suspect your subconscious may remember something that can provide a link.

WINDOM:

I'm willing to try anything that may help find her, Dale. Do what you must.

**271\. INT. CAROLINE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Caroline awakens to find herself once more in the comforting bedroom of her childhood, tucked snugly under her covers. She wears her floral nightgown and squeezes her floppy-eared plush bunny rabbit tightly against her cheek. Without any plausible explanation, the entire room begins darkening all around her._

_Caroline stands up and approaches the lone window to investigate the black-out's impetus, leaving the plush bunny behind on her bed, sitting up against the pillow. Peering out at the night sky, she can see that the Moon has been obscured by thousands of flying black birds that fill the air. From the encroaching darkness, she can feel her last dwindling hopes slowly draining away along with the Moonlight... Her attention is stolen by a knocking at the door and an accompanying voice..._

DARK MAN:

Hello, Caroline, my beloved. You know who this is... Are you ready to let me in, yet?

_Caroline spews unconditional defiance._

CAROLINE:

I will never let you in... I'll die, first...

DARK MAN:

I'm sorry to hear you say that... but your own death was never an option. I've given you a fair number of chances to come to your senses. But now, I'm afraid, it's time for first blood to be spilled... I have just murdered someone you love.

_Caroline's eyes grow wide._

CAROLINE:

You have...? Who...?

DARK MAN:

Why don't you go and check on Mr. Cuddlekins?

_Caroline looks back towards her bed. The plush rabbit doll is laying face down, a position different than how she left it. Caroline's initial reaction is to check the door, but there are no signs of forced entry. With trepidation, she forces herself towards the stuffed animal. It remains in a motionless state upon the bed as she tiptoes closer. With a quivering hand, Caroline reaches down and turns her cuddly ally over._

_A knife sticks out of it's belly, which has been pulled downwards a ways to slice open the toy's stomach. Candy colored blood runs down the rabbit, mixing with the white fluff that make up it's internal organs. Blood oozes from it's mouth and nose, stuck to the cotton in blotches. Caroline is embittered at this exercise in torment, and the loss she feels is as real as any she's known before._

DARK MAN:

I certainly hope this is a wake up call to you, Caroline. All I want is for you to open up to me. One twist of the doorknob is all it will take to end this. I think my next victim will be that fastidious consort of yours, Windom. Please consider this. Is your stubborn streak worth his death?

_Caroline bites her lower lip, trying not to hyperventilate. All she can think of is one person... She glances over to the mirror. The photos of Jimmy Dean and Elvis Presley fade away... and the images are replaced with Dale Cooper..._

CAROLINE:

Dale... Please save me...

_The Dark Man howls and screams like a wild animal and pounds violently against the door. Caroline jumps into her bed and buries her face in her pillows._

**272\. INT. BOILER ROOM – NIGHT**

_We pull back out of Caroline's mind to find her still strapped to the table. She is topless, malnourished, and covered in nicks, bruises and scratches. The Dark Man has just finished injecting more of the serum into her bloodstream. He no longer wears a sack over his head and allows his demonic visage for all to see. Caroline's eyes roll back into her head and her limbs convulse._

_The antique Victor phonograph plays an eerie melody in the corner of the room. Helper jumps around like a deranged primate, while Battis sits comfortably in a chair, prudently polishing the arrowhead of the Dark Man's crossbow. The ten other Dugpas stand in their semi-circle once more against the wall. The boiler continues to fill the room with an industrial soundscape. The Dark Man reflects on Caroline as he is scrounging through a large bag of private paraphernalia._

DARK MAN:

Well, I've upped the ante. She'll open up to me, sooner or later... And, even if she doesn't, she'll still be of use to me as I push Dale to the edge. This Vilca certainly packs a wallop! I want to thank you for introducing it to me, Battis. Really puts me a step above my competition.

BATTIS:

Don't mention it, my Lord. I live to serve.

_Helper wraps his arms around Caroline's legs and molests her ankles with his tongue, bellowing with lustful delight all the while._

HELPER:

I can feel her fear, my Dark Lord! The power we'll drain from her will be delicious! When we travel to the Dark Factory together –

_The Dark Man is pulling a strange Electronic device out of his bag as he cuts off Helper. The item is a black box with wiring and a clock. On it's back side is a large, gray mound of putty._

DARK MAN:

Actually, I'm glad you brought that up, Helper. There's a few trifling minutiae we should cover regarding the exact date in which we'll set off on our peregrination towards that Cimmerian pit of despair and desolation I like to call "home". Pardon me while I warm up my toy.

_The Dark Man attaches the small box via the putty side to the far end of the boiler. He heads back to his bag and rummages for another item as he continues speaking._

DARK MAN:

Oh, my Dugpas. You've been such loyal and sound underlings. It was by your timely orchestrations alone that I was allowed access to this world, and I am forever beholden to your diligence. But... I'm afraid that we've reached the end of your list of chores. And, now that I am here in a permanent capacity... I am no longer in need of your assistance.

_The Dugpas all freeze up, unsure of what the implications here are. Caroline, dizzily, wakes up from her dream. From out of his bag, the Dark Man equips himself with a complex remote control, complete with blinking lights. He slowly backs his way into the corner of the room._

BATTIS:

I don't understand, my Lord. Do you mean we'll journey to the Black Lodge already?

DARK MAN:

Oh, most assuredly not. I'll be here for quite some time, now. I'm merely finished with you lot.

_Helper and Battis look at each other in outraged confusion._

HELPER:

But, you made promises to us...

_Windom extends a comically long antennae which dwarfs the remote it's attached to._

DARK MAN:

Yes. Yes, I did, didn't I? Because why else would you all sacrifice yourselves for my benefit unless you had due motivation?

_The Dugpas all glance around, nervously. The Dark Man shakes his head._

DARK MAN:

It's a classic tale, isn't it? A group of cowardly fools beg the favour of the Devil, hopeful to be under his protection when the day of reckoning arrives. This is a story which repeats itself eternally, and it always ends the same... Why do humans have such an instinctual proclivity to destroy themselves? The Devil cares not for granting favour. The Devil cannot be bargained with. The Devil does not keep his promises. The Devil offers only death.

_The Dark Man presses a button on his remote and the plastic explosive attached to the boiler erupts. The boiling hot water surges out at a deadly pressure. The ten Dugpas are instantly killed as their bodies scald and melt. Steam fills the room to the point that it is impossible to even see the opposing wall. The Dark Man maniacally laughs, pulling a large cutlas from his belt as he approaches Battis._

BATTIS:

No! No! I have a family!

DARK MAN:

Haven't you realized by now that I am impervious to pleas of mercy?

_Despite his protests, the Dark Man cuts Battis through with his blade, twice. As he gurgles blood down his chin, the murderous spirit pulls the sword back out and lets the hefty body fall to the floor. He turns upon Helper and slowly advances, his cutlas-wielding shadow hidden by the fog. Helper backs into the corner and whimpers pitifully as the Dark Man emerges from the steam and closes in on his target, grinning from ear to ear._

HELPER:

My Lord... No... You can't...

DARK MAN:

Hold still, now. This _will_ hurt... But, once it's all over... well... things shall become far worse...

_Caroline has witnessed the barbarous display of violence unfold before her and is unable to bare any more. As the Dark Man comes up behind Helper, she turns her head away. An unfortunately placed lamp casts a silhouette of the two through the steam and upon the wall where her gaze has been fixed, and she unavoidably sees an all-black visualization of the ensuing carnage. The Dark Man brutally hacks through Helper's neck, the bone and veins audibly giving the blade a decent struggle._

_Finally, the head severs successfully and the shadowed body falls to the ground. The Dark Man turns to face Caroline, laughing triumphantly. He holds Helper's head by it's hair and then tosses it into Caroline's lap. The Dark Man has vanished in the steam, but his voice carries through the room, not being undercut by Caroline's wild screams._

DARK MAN:

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter  
Love and desire and hate  
I think they have no portion in us after  
We pass the Gate  
They are not long, the days of wine and roses  
Out of a misty dream  
Our path emerges for a while, then closes  
Within a dream...

_The cloud of steam grows larger and obscures the entire chamber. Both the Dark Man and Caroline disappear from our view, their fates unknown..._

**273\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE, MEETING ROOM – NIGHT**

_We fade from the steamy boiler room into the steam rising from Dale Cooper's cup of fresh, hot coffee. It is after hours, and the remainder of the staff have retired for the evening. In the private meeting room, however, Windom Earle is laying down on the sofa. Dale has put him under hypnosis, and speaks in a gentle, soothing voice._

DALE:

Where are you now?

WINDOM:

There is much light, and it is very dark.

DALE:

What can you see?

WINDOM:

Truth.

_Upon saying this, Windom softly chuckles._

DALE:

Why were you taken there?

WINDOM:

I was not taken. I was chosen.

DALE:

For what were you chosen?

WINDOM:

To be a good scout.

_Windom laughs, eerily._

DALE:

Why were you released?

WINDOM:

To do my work.

DALE:

What is that work?

WINDOM:

You can't see it, can you?

DALE:

No.

WINDOM:

Caroline saw it.

DALE:

What was it she saw?

WINDOM:

Love... And evil.

DALE:

Can you take me to where they took you?

WINDOM:

No.

DALE:

Why not?

_Windom laughs uproariously like a madman._

WINDOM:

You can't get there from here!

_Windom continues laughing. Dale tries to speak, but cannot be heard._

**274\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – NIGHT**

_Dale and Windom, both exhausted and without sleep, are listening to Windom's maniacal laughter on the cassette tape. Both men look at each other with similar puzzlement. We slowly fade to black, the laughter lingering long after the image is gone..._

**275\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, STUDY – DAY**

CAPTION:

April 10th, 1985

Two months, five days later...

_We slowly fade into the Earle study, well lit by the daytime Sunlight. Dale Cooper and Windom Earle, two tired, broken men, silently play their listless Chess match. The two of them can barely harness the energy needed to lift their Chess pieces off the board, and pitifully push the pieces forward with a finger twitch. Neither man has his heart in the game. They are merely going through the motions. Beside Windom, Caroline's favorite chair sits vacant and dusty, a painful remainder of her absence._

_The telephone rings, but Windom's spirit for conversation has vanished. Dale stands up and rambles over to answer in his place._

DALE:

Earle residence. Dale Cooper speaking... What!? Caroline?! You've found her?

**276\. EXT. I-76 EAST, DALE'S CAR – DAY**

_Dale and Windom are breaking the speed limit as they hurtle down the expressway towards Manhattan. The seven hour trip is not an easy one, especially with so much at stake. No words are spoken by either man. They stare ahead pensively as the yellow dashes of the road hypnotically zoom below their line of sight._

**277\. INT. MANHATTAN POLICE STATION, LOBBY – DAY**

_The Lobby of the Manhattan Precinct is packed with a dense cluttering of dodgy riff-raff. Dale deals impatiently with the POLICE DESK SERGEANT __**[Roy Brocksmith]**__ on duty, who blocks their efficient managing of the situation with his unhelpful and indignant attitude. The revolving door to the left of the front desk keeps swaying back and forth distractingly as a constant flow of people pass through._

DESK SERGEANT:

I'm sorry but you just missed her. She made bail an hour ago.

DALE:

This is unbelievable! She matched the description of a high priority missing person! And you knew we were on our way! How could you just –

DESK SERGEANT:

Woah, woah, woah! Pump the breaks, there, okay, buddy? I can't keep a suspect detained here after they've made bail unless they've been positively ID'd! It's against the law! You remember the law, right? It's supposed to be our sworn duty to follow it!

_Dale cools his tamper with meditative discipline, blocking out the stress-inducing swaying of the swinging desk door._

DALE:

I'm sorry. You're right, of course. Please forgive me.

DESK SERGEANT:

It's alright. I'm sure you were just –

_Dale issues a frenzied stream of well articulated commands._

DALE:

Put out an all points bulletin with her current description, immediately. I'll have my men do the same. Send out as many officers as you can spare, and make a full sweep of the area she was found in, as well as the area surrounding the station.

DESK SERGEANT:

Now, wait just a –

_Dale has already turned his back on the useless officer and faces his partner._

DALE:

I'm going out into the streets myself. Are you feeling up to it, Windom?

WINDOM:

Of course.

_Dale and Windom leave hastily, ignoring the protests of the desk sergeant._

**278\. EXT. MANHATTAN ALLEYWAY – NIGHT**

_Many hours have passed and the streets of Manhattan have gone dark with the Moonless night. A police officer, fresh-faced and most likely a rookie, walks down a grimy back-street strip on patrol. He rounds a corner and passes by a particularly isolated alleyway. A curious rustling catches his attention. He halts in his step and peers down the murky passageway. Though he squints his eyes, he cannot identify any of the shapes shrouded in the dense curtain of blackness._

_The policeman removes his regulation flashlight from his belt as he steps forward into the gloom. With a flick of the switch, a bright cone of light shines forth. He waves it about, familiarizing himself with the outlay of the confined space. Ahead of him is a large dumpster, rubbish overflowing out onto the pavement. Some feral creature is rummaging through the refuse. The officer shines his light directly on the figure, and is disturbed to discover that it is, in fact, a woman._

_It is Caroline Earle. She is pale, sickly, and shaking. All she wears is a tattered pillowcase with arm and leg holes torn into the sides. She is biting the flesh off of a rotten chicken carcass that she uncovered in the trash. Upon seeing the officer, she arches her stance and growls like a wild animal. She tries to run off, but her legs give out from under her, no longer able to support her after such lengths of abuse._

**279\. INT. MANHATTAN POLICE STATION, HOLDING CELL – DAY**

_Dale Cooper and Windom Earle are both running down the hallway of the police station to the holding cell. Upon reaching it, they are led inside. The entity that once resembled Caroline is handcuffed to a table. She pulls away, her wrists red and raw, her arms covered in swollen, infected puncture marks. Her nature is that of a savage, abused, frightened animal. She snarls at the visitors, evidencing no recognition towards either of them. Windom's mouth hangs open in awe. Dale cannot bare to see her and turns away. As he steps out of the room, he cannot control the surfacing despair, nor stem the tide of tears flowing down his cheeks. We slowly fade to black..._

**280\. INT. BELLEVUE HOSPITAL – NIGHT**

_We fade into a hospital room. Caroline lays in bed with an IV hooked into her arm. She is unconscious and breathing softly. On the other side of the glass, the two men most invested in her safety gaze in at her. Where they should be celebrating her return, their relief is instead buried under nausea and disbelief that they can scarcely even recognize her. CAROLINE'S DOCTOR explains her condition to Dale and Windom._

CAROLINE'S DOCTOR:

Due to the time she's spent lying in an inactive state, she won't be able to walk until the muscles in her legs have recovered. With a steady diet and gradual strengthening exercises, it could still take a week. We've found large traces of heroin in her system. The puncture wounds on her arms are infected, but a regulated intake of antibodies should nullify that. There are also smaller traces of another drug that we haven't yet identified. We've extracted a small sample of her blood and we've sent it to a toxicology lab to analyze. All we know so far is that it's exotic. The withdrawal will be extremely difficult. It might help if you were present with her.

DALE:

Of course. Thank you, doctor.

_The doctor leaves them. Both men stare at the sleeping woman that they both once knew so well. Bitter resentment fills their souls, and Windom is the first to express it..._

WINDOM:

I'm going to kill whoever did this to her...

_Dale lets the comment sit for an uneasy moment before responding._

DALE:

I truly wish that somewhere inside of me... I wanted to say something to discourage you.

_They both stand in silence. We abruptly cut to..._

**281\. INT. BELLEVUE HOSPITAL – NIGHT**

_Caroline sits up in bed, screaming and howling like a wounded animal caught in a trap. She tugs at her restraints and bites at her arms, all the while shouting horrible, vulgar obscenities as the medical staff do their best to sedate her. Dale, who is present in the room, finds the sight too horrible to stomach. He sits in the waiting chair, looking down at the floor in anguish. Windom stands beside him, unflinching. He closely observes her, absorbing every miserable second. Murder grows in his eyes..._

**282\. INT. BELLEVUE HOSPITAL – DAY**

_We fade to the following morning, the screaming long gone and replaced with silence. Dale wakes up in the same chair, having fallen asleep in an upright position. As he slurps up some of the drool leaking from the side of his mouth, he notices that Windom is planted in the same spot as the previous night, his eyes just as intensely locked upon his wife. Caroline is still and calm. Without having to look behind him, Windom knows that Dale is awake and speaks..._

WINDOM:

She's been sleeping for awhile. I'm going to step out and get some air.

DALE:

Of course.

_Windom leaves the room. Dale scoots his chair to the side of Caroline's bed, watching her chest subtly lift up and down with the shallow breaths of sleep._

**283\. INT. BELLEVUE HOSPITAL – DAY**

_We fade to the same spot, hours later, still. Dale continues watching Caroline from her side, but he is now joined in the room by a doctor. Windom has returned, but remains in the hallway outside, peering in through the window. With a barely aural moan, Caroline begins to stir and awaken. Dale livens up instantly and attempts to establish communication._

DALE:

Caroline!

_She strains her neck to lift her head up from the pillow. She looks at Dale through glassy eyes. Her voice is cracked and broken, whispering softly through her chapped lips._

CAROLINE:

Dale... Is that Dale...?

DALE:

Yes, it's me! It's Dale! You're safe now!

_Caroline lights up with relief._

CAROLINE:

Oh, Dale... I waited for you...

_Tears of joy form in Dale's eyes as Caroline begins returning to this world. He smiles at Windom through the window and urges that he come into the room. Windom walks over to Caroline's side and takes her by the hand._

WINDOM:

Caroline! It's Windom!

_Caroline dizzily looks up at him, nothing registering._

CAROLINE:

… Who?

WINDOM:

Windom! It's Windom! Don't you recognise me?

_Windom's high spirits dissolve right out of his body as Caroline passes out once more. Windom lowers his head, understandably crushed. He looks back at Dale. There is no anger or resentment in his eyes, but perhaps some jealousy. Dale accepts this and rises, putting his hand on Windom's arm._

DALE:

She's been though a lot. She'll recognize you when her mind is truly at peace. She loves you so desperately, Windom. She's told me so. And, now you're back together.

_Windom sighs heavily, and puts his hand upon Dale's shoulder._

WINDOM:

You're my best friend. If you hadn't been my anchor to reality... I might have lost my mind. You've saved me, Dale... I love you.

DALE:

I love you, too, Windom.

_Windom walks outside once more. Dale looks down at Caroline, feeling painfully conflicted._

**284\. INT. BELLEVUE HOSPITAL – DAY**

_Windom sits at Caroline's bedside, holding her still unconscious hand. Dale is in the hall outside, speaking on the telephone to Gordon Cole. He holds the phone nearly arm's length away from his ear._

DALE:

The doctors have consented to let us move her to Pittsburgh tomorrow!

GORDON:

THAT'S REAL GOOD NEWS! BECAUSE I'M SURE IT'S OCCURRED TO YOU THAT ANOTHER ATTEMPT ON HER LIFE IS HIGHLY LIKELY! IF SHE REMEMBERS ANYTHING ABOUT HER KIDNAPPERS' IDENTITIES, SHE'LL BE SINGING LIKE ONE OF THE ANDREWS SISTERS! REMEMBER, CAROLINE EARLE IS NOW A WITNESS TO A FEDERAL CRIME! THAT'S WHY I'M ASSIGNING YOU, PERSONALLY, TO PROTECT HER!

DALE:

Me!? Surely Agent Earle...

GORDON:

WINDOM'S ALREADY SPOKEN WITH ME! HE WANTS YOU TO BE THE GUY! COOP, YOUR FULL TIME DUTY FROM THIS POINT FORWARD IS TO KEEP HER SAFE! DON'T LEAVE HER SIDE FOR A MOMENT UNTIL HER ABDUCTORS ARE APPREHENDED! DON'T LET YOUR GUARD DOWN, EVEN FOR ONE SECOND! HER LIFE IS IN YOUR HANDS! CAN YOU HANDLE THAT RESPONSIBILITY!?

_Dale swallows tentatively before answering, having never taken any response so seriously in all his life. With a steady resolve, he says..._

DALE:

Yes, sir! I will protect her with my life!

**285\. INT. BELLEVUE HOSPITAL – DAY**

_Windom paces back and forth in the background while Dale is sitting in a chair facing us and speaking into his tape recorder._

DALE:

The mind, Diane, is the most powerful healing agent known. There are techniques beyond Western understanding of medicine that may be of some use. I have told Windom of these and he has given me consent to try anything that may bring Caroline back.

_Dale softly whispers..._

DALE:

Never have I been so moved by the plight of another human being...

**286\. INT. BELLEVUE HOSPITAL – DAY**

_A fresh IV packet is being brought to Caroline's room. It is being carried on a metal tray, two pudgy hands sweatily gripping it from either side. We keep the IV fixed to the center of the frame during it's lengthy transport, the floor and hallways below it shakily passing underneath. With each step the nurse takes, the liquid inside bubbles from it's repositioning. The IV packet's contents are, rather unusually, a dark shade of blue..._

_Dale is standing over Caroline, looking down at her uneasy slumber, as the CHUBBY NURSE __**[Diane Nelson]**__ enters. She sets about to changing the IV, heaving and straining as she stretches her porky little limbs outward. After a few failed tries of grabbing the old IV packet, spitting out grunts and curses all the while, she finally reaches it on her third attempt. The strenuous activity has exhausted her, and she spends a few moments wheezing and gasping, trying to catch her breath before endeavoring to replace the packet._

_Dale waits patiently as the portly woman continues the painfully slow process of changing Caroline's IV. She hangs the replacement packet onto it's place at the top of a metal pole and connects the tubes which are inserted into Caroline's veins. Just as the liquid begins siphoning, Dale notices it's suspicious blue color._

DALE:

WAIT!

_Snapping instantly into action as he sees the liquid flowing towards her veins, Dale Cooper leaps through the air. Falling to his knees, he pinches the tubing just in the nick of time, preventing the foreign agent from reaching Caroline. The chubby nurse is confounded, and yelps in a gruff, masculine voice._

CHUBBY NURSE:

What on Earth?!

DALE:

What's in this IV!? Look at the color! It's different than the previous ones!

CHUBBY NURSE:

Oh my God...

_Windom rushes into the room as Dale cuts the tubing with his pocketknife, the poisonous blue liquid pouring out onto the ground._

WINDOM:

What happened!?

DALE:

They got to her IV! Someone tried to poison Caroline!

_Windom grabs the chubby nurse by her collar and shakes her._

WINDOM:

Did you prepare the IV?

CHUBBY NURSE:

No! I just brought it out!

WINDOM:

Didn't you notice the colour, you bumbling idiot?!

_Windom angrily pushes her aside and heads into the lobby to question the staff._

WINDOM:

You! Who was in charge of this IV!? Well, find out!

_Dale looks over at Caroline, the realization setting in to just how close he was to losing her. Dale makes a judgment call._

DALE:

We're moving her today... Now! We're moving her to Pittsburgh right now! She's my responsibility. I must keep her safe.

**287\. EXT. BELLEVUE HOSPITAL, AMBULANCE – DAY**

_Caroline is carefully loaded into the back of an ambulance, strapped down to a portable bed. Along with two medics, Dale Cooper and Windom Earle both crawl into the small transporting area. The utterly exhausted men sit weightily against the walls opposite to one another as the vehicle takes off. They meet each other's eyes and hold hands across Caroline, vicariously giving each other the strength they need to continue._

**288\. EXT. SAFE HOUSE – NIGHT**

_The ambulance pulls up to a single story, quaint, white house. It has no shrubbery along it's perimeter, few windows, and no neighboring buildings. It rests towards the top of a hill, with a descending view of a sprawling construction site to it's back. To the West of the house is a cluster of apple trees. The two Agents, with the help of the medical staff, ensconce Caroline inside._

**289\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Caroline Earle rests in the fluffy, white sheets of her new bed. There is a large doorway on the back wall which leads into the backyard, but it is heavily barred. The comfortable room is adequately furnished, but offers little in the way of personal touches._

_Caroline opens her eyes, happy to find her hand being held in Dale's. The two share a smile. Windom smiles as well. Dale excuses himself so that the two may be alone, handing Caroline's hand over to her husband's._

_Dale shuts the door behind him, but barely takes a step into the living room when Caroline begins screaming. Dale rushes back, bursting through the door, but only finds her still laying in bed. Windom is standing over her, making soft shushing noises, trying to calm her. But, she pushes back, shouting hysterically._

WINDOM:

It's me! It's Windom! Don't you recognise me?

CAROLINE:

I saw his face! I saw the face of the man who took me! He's still coming after me! I know I'm going to die!

WINDOM:

You're not going to die! We're here for you! Just sleep... It's me! It's Windom!

_Caroline's stare loses it's focus and she falls back asleep. Windom desperately turns to Dale, tears forming in his eyes._

WINDOM:

It's me... It's Windom...

_He leaves._

**290\. EXT. SAFE HOUSE – NIGHT**

_A cold wind blows through the night, rustling the branches of the apple trees outside of the safe house. Although no one knows their location, there are eyes watching them even at that moment. A Giant Horned Owl perches on an apple branch, straining to hear the conversations carried out within the sanctuary..._

**291\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM – DAY**

_Dale has put Caroline under hypnosis. She lays upon the bed, atop the covers, wearing a comfortable white nightgown. Her pale, scarred arms and legs are left bare. Her bruised eyes remain closed as she speaks. Dale sits in a chair beside her, his voice soft and soothing. The two are alone in the room together._

DALE:

Can you understand me?

CAROLINE:

… Yes.

DALE:

Do you know who I am?

CAROLINE:

… Yes.

DALE:

I want you to go back to that night you were kidnapped... You are eating dinner... What happened?

_Caroline's head subtly shakes back and forth as she subconsciously recounts her memories._

CAROLINE:

Pork chops... The lights go out... Windom yells "no"...

DALE:

Do you see any faces?

CAROLINE:

No.

DALE:

What happened next?

CAROLINE:

A hand comes over my face. I scream.

_She brings her own chipped fingers to her chapped lips as she relives the experience._

DALE:

Then what?

CAROLINE:

They hit... and hit, and hit, and hit... No... please...

_Caroline reflexively holds her hands in front of her, as if to shield herself from phantom attackers._

DALE:

It's alright, you're safe here. They can't hurt you again. Do you remember what happened next?

CAROLINE:

Dark... Hands touch me... again and again. Stop... Stop... It hurts in the arm. Sharp.

_She clutches her swollen wrist in pain._

DALE:

A needle?

CAROLINE:

Yes.

DALE:

They injected you with a drug.

CAROLINE:

It burns. I want to let my brain out of my head. Hit it hard!

_Caroline begins hitting herself in the side of her head with her fist. Dale gently grabs her arm and restrains her. He places it back upon her chest and continues._

DALE:

Do you remember any faces?

CAROLINE:

Yes.

DALE:

Who is it? Is it the man who did this to you?

CAROLINE:

Helper. He's dead.

DALE:

How do you know he's dead?

_Caroline squirms around in discomfort._

CAROLINE:

No...

DALE:

It's okay. You're safe with me. Tell me what happened to the helper.

_In her mind's eye she relives the horrific event, screaming as if it were occurring in real time._

CAROLINE:

His head was in my lap! Looking at me! His body on the floor!

DALE:

I don't understand...

CAROLINE:

I heard him scream! They cut off his head and they put it in my lap! No! No! No! No!

DALE:

Do you remember the other faces?

_Caroline's voice breaks as she screams at the utmost capacity her vocal cords are capable of. She is filled with abject, undiluted __fear__._

CAROLINE:

They wouldn't let me!

_Realizing she is in too much agony, Dale claps, ending the session. Caroline immediately falls sound asleep. Dale rushes to the bed and sits upon it. He lifts her gently up, cradling her back and head, and holds her close against his own body. As we watch them, we hear the voice of Dale's next audio tape recording..._

DALE NARRATION:

At that point, Diane, I brought her out of the hypnotic state. Check with local PD and find out if any corpses have turned up missing a head over the last two months. My God, what Caroline has seen... I held her the rest of the session until, thankfully, sleep gave her a chance to rest. I want to help her more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life...

**292\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_The living room makes up the majority of the small home, situated in the center and giving access to the only external door. Behind is the bedroom, separated from the living quarters by a large double door set. The living room continues to the West, while the East is home to the kitchen, dining room and toilet._

_Through the open bedroom door behind, we can see Caroline sound asleep, her chest rising and falling with her breaths. Out in the living room sit Dale and Windom. The space is furnished with phony "dime-store" commodities, giving the residence the illusion of being a home, but nothing is honest about it. It does feature two fairly comfortable chairs and a table, upon which the two men are playing a game of Chess. Dale moves a piece across the board._

DALE:

I can't help but feel as though she's holding something back. It's almost as if identifying the face of the killer is as painful as the kidnapping itself. What she must have seen...

_Dale shakes his head, morosely. Windom says nothing but makes an impressive move._

WINDOM:

Checkmate.

DALE:

Remarkable. Even during this trying ordeal, you're game has not gone off one bit.

_Windom speaks dryly, no trace of a smile._

WINDOM:

The game is always on, Dale...

_Satisfied with his victory, Windom stands and announces an intention that he's been considering for awhile, but has dreaded voicing._

WINDOM:

I'm leaving.

DALE:

… What?

_Windom struggles to get through his explanation, every word pushing his strong affront to the breaking point._

WINDOM:

We both knew this was inevitable. Somehow... my presence is holding her back. I don't know what it is... but, I'm not helping by being here. She clearly feels far more comfortable with you...

DALE:

Windom, I'm sorry...

WINDOM:

Don't be. All that matters is that my wife recovers. Do whatever you have to. I trust you.

_Windom gets up, putting on his jacket. The two men hug a deep embrace, nothing withheld. Windom makes for the door, but he stops as he opens it, turning back to face Dale and leaving him with powerful parting words..._

WINDOM:

I now believe what you told me on our first meeting... Evil _does_ exist as an independent life force. And, it will eventually conquer good because of guile. At the end of all battles, only the victor is honoured, and no one remembers whether he was good or evil.

_Windom leaves the safe house, and Dale is left alone to ponder the meaning of those words..._

**293\. EXT. THE BLUFFS, EARLE HOUSE – NIGHT**

_The Earle residence is dark and lonely, bereft of the co-habitual partnership it once held. Where it was previously warm and inviting, it is now bleak and foreboding. The grass is overgrown and the windows unwashed. A taxi cab arrives to the curb and drops off Windom. After paying the driver, he watches the car coast off into the dark. The Moon is absent tonight, and every light in the neighborhood has been extinguished. The faint red glow of the taxicab slowly dims as it pulls further away, leaving the yard in complete, isolated blackness._

_Windom ascends up to the front porch, each footstep creaking as it connects with the wooden surface. He searches for the correct key in the dark, each entry on his small chain jingling together. Much to his surprise, the front door slowly opens all on it's own accord. A cold wind blows Windom's tie wildly up into the air beside him and ruffles through his hair as he stares straight ahead into the darkened entryway. He can discern nothing beyond the arch... but he knows something must be there..._

_Without a warning sound, a knife is trust out of the doorway and into Windom's chest. The black-masked attacker pulls it out and kicks him to the ground as he runs off into the night. Windom cannot speak, only able to clutch his chest as he falls, trying to stop the bleeding. He squirms forward on the grass, slowly pulling himself towards the street with his right arm as his left clutches the leaking wound. A winding trail of blood can faintly be seen through the dark, stained on the grass behind him. Earle reaches the edge of the yard, hand outstretched towards the sidewalk, when he loses consciousness..._

**294\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale stands out in the living room, speaking to Gordon Cole on the telephone. Through the open doors behind, we can see Caroline laying in bed, straining to hear._

DALE:

My God... How is he?

GORDON:

THANKFULLY THE STAB WOUNDS ARE ONLY SUPERFICIAL! OL' AGENT EARLE IS GONNA PULL THROUGH! AND, NOW WE'VE GOT HIM UNDER 'ROUND THE CLOCK POLICE PROTECTION, AS WELL!

CAROLINE:

Is that Gordon Cole!?

_Dale has taken a sofa cushion and buried the telephone receiver inside it in an effort to muffle the sound from reaching Caroline's ears._

GORDON:

BEST NOT TO TELL CAROLINE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED! IT WOULD ONLY UPSET HER!

CAROLINE:

What's he saying? Something about Windom?

DALE:

Okay, gotta go now, Gordon!

GORDON:

NOW HOLD ON THERE! DON'T GO AND HANG UP ON ME!

_Dale quickly hangs up while Gordon is still talking. He puts on a brave face and heads into the bedroom to comfort Caroline._

**295\. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM - DAY**

_Concentrated early morning Sunlight floods into the bedroom from through the barred patio door, casting the entire room in a blinding sparkle. Every speck of dust which floats through the air is clearly outlined and glows from the first flush of dawn._

_Dale softly closes the bedroom door behind him and sits in the chair next to Caroline's bed. She is still too weak to stand, so she remains on her comfortable mattress, wrapped in blankets. Her skin is still pale, but some color is returning in her cheeks. Her voice is still cracked and broken, but some of it's previous warmth has begun to resurface._

CAROLINE:

What's wrong? Did something happen to Windom?

DALE:

No, no... Everything's fine. Gordon was just giving me some advice on the upkeep of this place. He warned me that the gutters haven't been cleaned out in a few years, so...

CAROLINE:

I just hope that Windom is okay...

_Dale remains silent. Caroline extends a shaky hand to his and holds it._

CAROLINE:

I'm so glad you're here with me, Dale. I feel safe when you're around.

DALE:

Keeping you safe is my job.

CAROLINE:

Yes... but you make me _feel_ safe. I haven't felt safe in a long time...

_Caroline grows cold once more and begins shivering._

CAROLINE:

That room... I was in that room for years... That boiler... I can remember being down there for years...

_Dale grips her hand tightly._

DALE:

It wasn't years. It wasn't a very long time at all. And, you're never going back.

_Caroline reflects strangely, speaking almost like a child._

CAROLINE:

I found a special place that I would escape into... While I was trapped down there, I would hide away in my special place. And, the Dark Man couldn't get inside. He tried to, though. He tried so hard. Every day. But, I wouldn't let him. That only seemed to make him angrier...

_Dale changes the subject with a comforting smile._

DALE:

Well, this is your new special place. And, its just you and me, here.

CAROLINE:

I like this place. It's warm. I was so cold for so long...

DALE:

We've got more blankets if you need them. I'll keep you wrapped up every day.

CAROLINE:

I want to walk around. I want to see this house.

DALE:

Are you sure? Do you feel ready to walk?

CAROLINE:

I want to try. Okay?

DALE:

Okay.

_Dale's "okay" is barely a whisper, but it loudly resonates with support. Dale pulls the sheets off of Caroline, exposing her skinny, wobbly legs, their pale shade bringing further attention to the colorful collection of cuts, nicks and bruises along them. She slowly shifts in her bed and struggles to bring her feet over the edge and down to the floor. Dale takes her by both hands._

DALE:

On the count of three, ready? One... two... three...

_Dale pulls, helping Caroline into a standing position. She only lasts a few seconds before her knees buckle and she falls backwards. Dale grabs her by the waist and gently lowers her back down to the bed. Shaking more noticeably now, Caroline's voice breaks in frustration. She sighs, trying not to cry._

CAROLINE:

I don't want to be helpless, anymore...

_Dale offers her nothing but encouragement, extending his palms..._

DALE:

You're not helpless. Here... Take my hands...

_Caroline holds her hands up and Dale pulls her towards him. He grabs her by the waist with a light touch, but a grasp firm enough to keep her stationary. Dale slowly turns Caroline to face away from him and lifts each of her feet onto the top of his shoes. Allowing her weight to rest on his, and keeping her steady by the waist, Dale walks around the room. Dale's steps are as stiff and clunky as Frankenstein's monster, and Caroline symbiotically follows along with his grandiose march. A combination of the absurdness of Dale's stride and the sweetness of his gesture illicit the first honest pangs of laughter from Caroline in the last two months._

DALE:

Would you like to see the living room?

_Caroline nods in affirmation and smiles. Her dry lips, being unused to the expression, crack and stretch. Dale heads through the open door._

**296\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale slowly leads Caroline on an impromptu tour of the living quarters. His first stop is the cushioned seat placed between the front door and bedroom._

DALE:

This is my post. The luxurious chair in which I shall maintain a constant watch each night while you comfortably slumber in the adjoining bed chambers behind me.

**297\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY**

_The next stop on the tour is the coffee pot, already percolating away._

DALE:

This is official regulation energy supplement, which all Bureau Agents are required to be under the influence of at all times when having someone in their care. Fresh, hot cups, filled to the brim, are to be consumed every hour, on the hour.

_Caroline giggles and Dale marches her over to the stove-top._

DALE:

And, this is where I shall prepare three square meals a day for you. While I cannot promise how delicious the taste, I _can_ ensure the quality of ingredients and the effort put forth by the chef.

**298\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM – DAY**

_Dale walks Caroline back to her bed and gently sets her down, resting her head against the pillows._

DALE:

And, thus ends our tour. What do you think? No interest, no money down, quiet neighborhood...

CAROLINE:

Well...

DALE:

Not to put any pressure on you, but there's another woman coming to see it in an hour, and she was looking to buy...

CAROLINE:

I'll take it!

_Dale and Caroline chuckle together. As Dale is tucking her in, he takes her weakened leg in his hand and looks it over._

DALE:

You know, there are some very effective Yogic exercises that would aide in restrengthening your leg muscles. If you want, I'd be happy to teach you...

_Caroline smiles up at Dale with gratitude._

CAROLINE:

Thank you so much for everything, Dale.

DALE:

I told you, Caroline... I'm just doing my job. No thanks necessary. I am here to keep you safe.

_We fade out as they smile at one another._

**299\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_Night has fallen, and Dale Cooper sits attentively in his chair in the center of the living room. In his hands is a steaming hot cup of coffee, from which he takes a slurp. Although his eyelids appear drowsy, his resolve is strong enough to deter them from closing._

_Through the bedroom door behind him, Caroline Earle is sleeping deeply and peacefully. From his vantage point, Dale has a clear view of every door and window that allows access into the house. Due to the silent atmosphere, he can also hear any point of attempted entry, should it occur. At his side and at the ready is Dale's Federal issue handgun._

**300\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, KITCHEN – NIGHT**

_Days later, Dale is cooking supper for Caroline. He is wearing a white chef's hat and his father's grilling apron, which reads "_Kiss Me I'm Scottish_", as he engages in culinary preparation above a large pot of boiling water. He slices potatoes and leeks and drops them into the bubbling broth. Once the soup is ready, he fills two bowls and carries them out to the table where Caroline waits patiently._

DALE:

Potato and leek stew! Served hot!

_Dale sits down, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Caroline takes a steaming spoonful into her mouth and licks her lips in delight. Dale hardly touches his own bowl, instead treasuring the experience of watching Caroline enjoy her meal._

CAROLINE:

Oooh. That's wonderful. What is that, vanilla?

DALE:

Vanillin, actually.

CAROLINE:

It's sweet... But, there's a spice, too. What is that?

DALE:

Cayenne.

_Caroline repeats the name of the pepper in a whisper of gravitas._

CAROLINE:

Cayenne... Sweet and spicy.

DALE:

Your husband has often reminded me of the importance of maintaining balance in all things.

_The room suddenly suffers from an awkward silence at the mention of Windom. Dale clears his throat._

DALE:

Actually, it was my mother's recipe.

CAROLINE:

It's divine.

DALE:

Thank you. I don't make it very often.

CAROLINE:

Why not?

_Though reliving the memories are not easy, Dale is happy to indulge Caroline's inquiry._

DALE:

She made it for dinner the night that she died. I don't care to eat it alone, because it brings me back to that night, and the way I felt. I only make it when I have someone very special to share it with.

CAROLINE:

Thank you... How many times have you made it before?

_Dale pauses, embarrassed._

DALE:

Actually, this is only the second time I've ever made it.

_Caroline is flattered, and smiles as she devours another spoonful._

CAROLINE:

What was your mother's name?

DALE:

Florence. Florence Cooper.

CAROLINE:

Beautiful name. What was she like?

_Dale smiles, an image of her face filling his mind._

DALE:

She was a very kind and soft woman, but she also had a very strong heart. And, she loved me with the purest love I've ever known... You see this ring?

_Dale shows Caroline the Golden Ring on his finger._

DALE:

This was hers. She left it for me. I've worn it every day since –

_Dale cuts himself off, remembering his promise to keep the ring's origins a secret. After imposing herself upon Dale's memories of loss, Caroline offers some of her own._

CAROLINE:

I lost my mother, too. When I was very young. Her name was Anastasia Powell.

_Dale smiles at the fondness for her mother evident in Caroline's tone._

CAROLINE:

She left me a Music Box.

DALE:

I think I've seen it on your nightstand. Red and gold?

_Caroline nods._

CAROLINE:

It has a little ballerina inside it, and when you wind it up, it dances to a beautiful melody.

_Caroline's gaze goes distant._

CAROLINE:

When I was a little girl, all I ever dreamed of for my future was to dance. Formally. My mother kept telling me that she would pay for my training. She bought me a ballet dress and slippers a week before the accident. The dress was blue and the slippers were silver. But... after she died... my dad couldn't afford to keep the house, let alone pay for dance lessons...

DALE:

Where is the dress, now?

CAROLINE:

Long, long gone... Lost in a memory...

_Caroline trails off as she mulls over past regrets. Dale waits patiently, and then she continues._

CAROLINE:

Windom and I never even danced on our wedding night... He's a man of many arts, but dancing was never one of them.

DALE:

Perhaps you could ask him to take lessons with you? I'm sure if Windom knew how important it was...

CAROLINE:

We've only danced together once in our entire marriage. On the beach... On our honeymoon...

_A tear rolls down Caroline's cheek._

CAROLINE:

All I've ever wanted was to dance with him...

DALE:

I'm so sorry that you're stuck here in this house... But, you'll be able to dance as soon as your abductors are apprehended.

CAROLINE:

When I was a little girl, I closed that Music Box and locked it, tight. Because every time I heard that song... it reminded me of the life that I'd missed out on. The life of a dancer. I told myself that I would not open it again, until my life was different. Until I had someone to dance with. Someone to dance with, forever.

_Caroline sniffles. She pushes her tears away and speaks up, professing her desire in a clear, honest voice._

CAROLINE:

I want to dance, now. With you.

_Dale is taken off guard. His first reaction is to protest._

DALE:

But... we have no music...

_Caroline looks up at him with earnest confidence._

CAROLINE:

All we need is the music in our heads...

_Caroline pushes her chair away from the table and stands up, her trembling legs now toned just enough to support her. She offers a hand to Dale. Though he feels uncomfortable for a number of reasons, Dale cannot deny the sincerity in her eyes nor the enchanting innocence of her request. He stands up and takes her hand in his left, carefully placing his right hand upon her waist._

_Caroline begins humming a soft melody that runs through her head. Dale can just scarcely recognize it from somewhere... Taking her lead, the two slowly waltz around the room. The most beautiful music plays in their minds, growing louder and louder until it fills the house. The two lock eyes. Caroline softly speaks under the melody._

CAROLINE:

My mother taught me to always take moments when they come. Did your mother teach you anything?

DALE:

My mother taught me many things. But mostly, she taught me never to give in to fear.

_Caroline grips his hand tighter._

CAROLINE:

The reason that I didn't give in to fear... was because I kept thinking of you, Dale.

_Caroline rests her head upon Dale's shoulder and they share their waltz together, living only in the moment._

**301\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale is on the telephone, talking discreetly._

DALE:

I believe she's a size 7. And, please send it express. Thank you.

_Dale hangs up and heads on into the bedroom._

**302\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM – DAY**

_The back door of the bedroom is unbarred and standing open, the warm Springtime breeze blowing inside. Caroline stands out on the small back patio, steadying herself on the wooden railing. The small deck is bordered by a white picket fence, beyond which is a small roll of green hill. In front of the fence is a row of seven pots, each containing Gardenias. Beyond the fence, down the hill, some construction workers are progressing very slowly on building some sort of complex._

_Caroline stares out at the view, the breeze blowing her hair back. Despite the fact that the scenery is very plain, she is enthralled by it. She is wearing a __love__ly white dress with a floral design. Dale comes up behind her, spirits amiable._

DALE:

I'm sorry that this scenery is the best the Bureau has to offer... You must be tired of seeing those construction workers by now...

_Caroline stares outwards, silently mesmerized._

CAROLINE:

This is the most beautiful view I've ever seen...

_Dale is surprised, but curiously impressed. His brow furrows, but his smile widens._

DALE:

Really? Why's that?

CAROLINE:

Because this... this is what was waiting for me... Waiting for me while I was lost down in the dark... Waiting to gaze back at me... Waiting to show me that light still exists...

_She points._

CAROLINE:

Look at those rolling hills of green. See the way that the breeze makes the fence shudder back and forth ever so slightly? And, whoever potted these Gardenias here... May God bless them for all of their days. They smell magnificent.

_Caroline thinks for a moment, then turns to Dale for the first time since he'd entered._

CAROLINE:

Do you have a camera?

DALE:

Err... I can check to see if there's one in the supply cabinet. Why?

CAROLINE:

I want to make a postcard. Then, I can always remember the first view I saw once my life was returned to me.

_Dale smiles._

**303\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale Cooper is rifling through the cabinets in the corner of the living room. He has already made quite a mess sifting through the supplies. Mounds of the items lie scattered across the floor. He pulls out a blue bucket labeled "_DO NOT OPEN_" and sets it on the floor beside him. He peers further into the recesses of the cabinet._

DALE:

Eureka!

_At the very back of the top shelf is an old camera._

**304\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM – DAY**

_Dale stands in the doorway, taking photographs of the view. Judging by his awkward posture, it is clear that he has not had much experience taking pictures. After snapping a few, he turns to Caroline._

DALE:

Would you like one with you in it?

CAROLINE:

Yes.

_Caroline limps into frame and smiles serenely while Dale snaps the shot._

CAROLINE:

How about one with both of us?

DALE:

But, how will we do that? There's no automatic on this.

CAROLINE:

Just hold it out with your long arm of the law.

_They stand side by side, arms around one another. Dale has his hand fully outstretched as he snaps a photo. Caroline turns to gaze at the backyard once more, the warm breeze blowing in her hair._

CAROLINE:

Even if I never got to see another view, again... I'm just glad I lived long enough to see this one...

**305\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale is on the phone. He sits on the sofa, cup of coffee on his hand, which he frequently sips from. Caroline is slowly walking towards him, her slight limp still evident._

DALE:

Thanks for the update, Bill.

_Dale hangs up and cheerily turns towards Caroline, effectively burying any feelings of disappointment or jealousy he may secretly harbor._

DALE:

Windom will be here in the morning to visit! After ten days with only me to keep you company... I bet you'll be happy to see someone new, for a change!

_Caroline seems less than thrilled._

CAROLINE:

I'm ready... to go for a walk around. Outside. Will you do the honors?

_She holds out her elbow, leaving space for her arm to lock with another._

DALE:

It would be my pleasure, my honor, and my privilege.

_Dale conjoins with her bodily invitation, and the two stroll outside._

**306\. EXT. SAFE HOUSE – DAY**

_Dale and Caroline are walking arm-in-arm around the perimeter of the house. The Sun is out in full this day and the sky is an almost unrealistically bright color of blue. The grass is vibrantly green, and the cool breeze blows through the blades in ripples. Off to the left of the house, in the center of an otherwise vacant expanse of yard, is a clutter of apple trees. Ripe, red Baldwins grow from it's branches._

_Dale is cheerfully basking in the serene environment. He slowly walks with Caroline locked in his arm. She bites her lower lip, something weighing on her mind. They head towards the trees._

DALE:

Do you like apples?

CAROLINE:

Of course.

DALE:

I don't particularly care for apple pie. I find it to be a distinct disappointment when contrasted with the berry, peach, or chocolate varieties. And, it goes without saying, that all pale in comparison to that King of pie fillings: cherry. But, I do enjoy partaking of apples when they are going solo. Especially when –

CAROLINE:

I love you.

DALE:

… What?

_They stop walking and face one another. Dale is terrified, his eyes opened wide and his heart leaping up into his throat._

CAROLINE:

I can't pretend that I don't any longer. For the last year, my heart swims whenever I think of you. I've been more excited for you to return to my house than my own husband. And, when I was kidnapped, it wasn't Windom that I kept in my mind. It was you. For two months, every moment of every day, I blocked out the world around me and focused only on your face. And, it kept me alive. _You_ kept me alive. I love you, Dale Cooper.

_Dale stutters and chokes on his feeble attempts at protest._

DALE:

Caroline... I… I care for you deeply... as a friend. I have cherished our friendship with every... But, I do not... I have never thought of you as more than...

_Caroline puts her fingers over Dale's mouth._

CAROLINE:

You're a terrible liar. But, you're a fantastic and loyal friend. And, part of the reason I love you is because of how you've stood by Windom. But... we can't fight the truth. Windom's not here, and the both of us are. And... I love you.

_Dale finds the following emitting from his mouth without any assistance from his brain._

DALE:

I love you, too, Caroline. I've never told anyone that –

_Before Dale can finish, Caroline kisses him. They fall to the grass together in the shade directly underneath the apple trees, arms wrapped tightly around one another, and embrace. Dale removes his shirt as Caroline pulls off her dress._

_Caroline takes Dale's hand and places it upon her belly. She leads him into making soft circular motions gently with his fingers upon her stomach. She releases him and he continues on his own, lessening his touch more and more until he is hardly grazing her. She writhes about in ecstasy, pulling his face closer and kissing him deeply and richly. They remove their clothing and engorge themselves upon each other's touch._

_We pull up into the sky as they begin making __love__. Their naked bodies become obscured by the apples which fill up the frame as we get lost up in the branches..._

**307\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale sits alone on his chair, speaking softly into his tape recorder._

DALE:

I do not know what to do. I find myself in the difficult position of choosing between breaking the trust of a friend and mentor, or denying love... I have never been able to say this about anyone, but I love her more than life itself. Every thought, every impulse, every waking second I want to devote to her. I want to help her heal, and I want to protect her for the rest of my life. We made love under a bright Spring Sun... It was the happiest I've seen her since her ordeal. I do not know what I will tell Windom when he arrives here in the morning. Aside from the fact that it would be useless to try, I can and will not lie to him. For the moment, we have the night. The morning will be another day...

_Dale goes to turn off his recorder, but hesitates and adds one final sentence._

DALE:

I believe Windom is wrong on one point. Love is stronger than evil.

_Dale clicks off his tape recorder and approaches Caroline's bedroom._

**308\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Caroline is draped in a beautiful white nightgown that is not entirely opaque. The lamp light behind her glows through the dress, revealing the full beauty of her female form. Dale enters the room and speaks softly._

DALE:

Guess it's time to tuck you in again.

_Caroline just shakes her head._

CAROLINE:

I want you to sleep with me. I want you to sleep _beside_ me.

DALE:

I can't. I have to stay at my post.

CAROLINE:

Just for one night. Who knows what the future might bring? I want to sleep in your arms just for one night...

_Dale smiles, concedes, and removes his shirt. He picks up Caroline in both arms and carries her to the bed, reciting a poem as he does so..._

DALE:

"The fountains mingle with the river  
And the rivers with the ocean  
The winds of Heaven mix forever  
With a sweet emotion  
Nothing in the world is single  
All things by law divine  
In one spirit meet and mingle  
Why not I with thine?"

_Caroline smiles and joins Dale, also knowing the poem by heart._

CAROLINE / DALE:  
"See the mountains kiss high Heaven  
And the waves clasp one another  
No sister flower would be forgiven  
If it disdained its brother  
And the Sunlight clasps the earth  
And the Moonbeams kiss the sea  
What is all this sweet work worth  
If thou kiss not me?"

_On cue, the two kiss as Dale gently lowers Caroline down onto the bed, resting her head against the pillow._

CAROLINE:

I knew that you'd sent me that poem the moment I read it.

DALE:

All I wanted was to try and help you...

CAROLINE:

You _have_ helped me. You were the only one who could help me.

_Caroline kisses Dale, pulling his tape recorder out of his trouser pocket as she does so._

CAROLINE:

Just for the record...

_Caroline clicks the record button on and speaks into the tape recorder._

CAROLINE:

I love you, Dale Cooper.

_Smiling, she switches off the recorder and sets it on the bedside table. As they begin to make __love__ once more, we stay on the tape recorder and continue slowly panning away from the bed. We can hear the sounds of their kisses and moans as we close in on the darkened window..._

_The Dark Man stands on the other side of the glass, his hand and faced pressed up against the window frame, silently watching them make __love__. The glass fogs up from his erratic breaths. Upon his ghastly, vicious face is a scowl of mad jealousy._

**309\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Many hours later, Dale and Caroline are asleep in bed together. Caroline's head rests on Dale's chest, his arm wrapped beneath her neck. Dale awakens from a creaking somewhere in the dark night. He lifts his head up, straining to see if he can detect any further commotion. He gently pulls his arm out from under Caroline's head, so as not to waken her, delicately lowers her head back onto the pillow, and sits up. He is dressed only in his shorts, but he reaches for his Glock. Armed, he steps out to investigate..._

**310\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale quietly creeps through the dark, empty living room. His gun is drawn. There are no further sounds, nor any evidence of forced entry. He slowly sneaks to the far side of the room and investigates the windows, which are still barred. Dale then makes his way to the other side of the house, towards the kitchen. Likewise, each of the windows is closed and blockaded._

_Dale returns to the center of the living room, straining his ears, but the house is completely silent. Not satisfied by his sweep, Dale decides to investigate outside. He quietly turns the lock and twists the doorknob, opening the door. He covers his position from each side with his Glock before stepping out._

**311\. EXT. SAFE HOUSE – NIGHT**

_The night air is unnaturally silent, not even a breeze about. There are no animals, no insects, and no signs of humanity. There are also no lights, with the exception of a thin sliver of Moon. Dale quietly nudges the door shut behind him and locks it, thus ensuring that no one will be inside other than who is already present._

_Gun drawn at the ready, Dale slowly circles around the house. There are no footprints, nor any disruption of the way things were left. Dale approaches the back of the house, noting that the fence and Gardenias are all in their perfect alignment and that the back door is still secured. Dale tiptoes around the last remaining side of the house to discover that it is similarly safe._

_Returning to the front door, which is still closed and locked, Dale lowers his weapon and removes his key, satisfied that there are no intruders anywhere on the premises, nor forced entry into the house. He quietly unlocks the door and allows himself back inside._

**312\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale softly closes the front door and locks it, thus dissolving the house interior's only external light source, momentarily provided by the faint crescent of Moon. Dale begins quietly making his way back to the bedroom, his weapon lowered and his guard down._

_Quickly advancing through the darkness behind him is a man. He moves inhumanly silently and at lightening speed. The aggressor is dressed in an all-black suit and tie. Dale cannot even hear footsteps as the man wraps his arm around his neck and stabs Dale with a long knife._

_Dale has the wind knocked out of him as the blade pierces his lung. He attempts to cry out, but all that emits is a faint gurgle as he falls slowly to his knees. The man behind him pulls the knife out and Dale sprawls backwards against the wall. Blood pumps out of his stomach wound and he passes out._

**313\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM - NIGHT**

_Caroline lays in her bed, stirring and shaking. She experiences a dream where she remembers her abductor..._

**314\. INT. BOILER ROOM – NIGHT**

_We are back in the boiler room, the scene playing out exactly as it did before. Helper, Battis and the other Dugpas stand around while Caroline is strapped to the table. The Dark Man torments her, the straw sack concealing his head._

CAROLINE:

Who are you...?

DARK MAN:

You really want to know who I am, Caroline? I don't think you'll be able to handle it...

_The Dark Man removes the bag from his head. It is Windom Earle. Caroline screams as she drifts into unconsciousness. Her husband laughs, maniacally._

**315\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_We return to the living room, the black-suited man still standing over Dale. We slowly pan up to reveal that it is none other than Special Agent Windom Earle. He is grinning with malice, the blood-dripping knife still clenched in his hand. He noiselessly stalks towards Caroline's bedroom._

**316\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, BEDROOM – NIGHT**

_Windom spies on his wife tossing and turning in her bed. He stands over Caroline, gently nudging her awake._

WINDOM:

Hey, there... Rise and shine, sleepyhead... Time to wake up!

_Caroline awakens with a start. Through her eyes we can see the Dark Man standing over her. She shrieks in terror, and then shakes her head. Suddenly, it is Windom standing over her. Even more frightened by this implication, she screams with all of her might. Windom grabs her by the neck, her cries being silenced by the blocking of air passage. Windom shouts at her insanely, tears of jealous rage seeping down his cheeks._

WINDOM:

You love Dale Cooper, don't you, you filthy whore!? And, you loved Windom Earle, didn't you!? But, you couldn't love me! Why couldn't I get through you to you!? Why couldn't I get you to crack!? If only you'd given yourself to me... I gave you so many chances! Why!?

_Despite Windom's grip, Caroline sputters her last, defiant words._

CAROLINE:

I'd rather die than be yours...

_Windom is awestruck. He submits._

WINDOM:

Then so be it, my muse.

_Windom brutally stabs Caroline in the chest as she struggles to get out of bed. The knife makes wet, sticky sounds as he carves upwards, mutilating vital organs and puncturing her aorta. Blood seeps out into her perfectly white nightgown, nearly dyeing it's color entirely. Unable to move, she falls back into bed, the lingering threads of life still present in her eyes._

_Sheathing his knife and observing what he's done, Windom picks Caroline up by her underarms and pulls her off of the bed. She hits the wooden floor with a sickening crack. Windom drags her out into the living room. She coughs and splutters as a bloody trail is left behind..._

**317\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_Windom drags Caroline out into the middle of the room._ _He lifts her up harshly and drapes her across Dale's open arms. Standing back, he surveys his macabre handiwork with delight._

WINDOM:

Look at the two lovebirds! What a cute couple you make! And, both in matching red!

_Windom laughs uproariously. Dale's eyes open. He sluggishly turns his head to look at Caroline. He witnesses her cough up blood with her last breath and then die. Dale falls back into unconscious._

_Windom begins dancing around the room and bounding over the bodies with giggling delight. Abruptly, a stillness settles over him. He walks backwards towards the wall and sits on a stool, his weight and momentum sliding it backwards into the corner. His expression goes blank and he remembers..._

**318\. EXT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_Months previously, Special Agent Windom Earle pulls up into the gravel parking lot in his Federal issue car. He pulls the key out of the ignition and gets out, arming himself with his Federal issue handgun. A quick sweep of the premises makes it clear that Dale Cooper has not yet arrived. The only other car in the parking lot is an unremarkable white Sedan with black windows. Curiously, Windom approaches, straining to see if he can discern anyone inside, but it is of no use through the tinted glass. Hoping that he is alone, he continues on._

_The warehouse is abandoned, crumbling and dark. There are no lights, except he can detect a candle shining forth through a single crack in the second story wall which faces the Moon. Windom walks towards it, realizing that it must be significant. As he slowly steps forward, the gravel crunching with every step, someone silently advances from behind him._

WINDOM:

Come on, Dale... Where are you?

_A hand wraps around Windom's mouth, and the heavily chloroformed handkerchief it wields renders him unconscious._

**319\. INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_Fredrick Olcott, possessed by the Dark Man, is fitting an imitation Napoleon Bonaparte hat atop his head and readying himself for the coming conflict. The other Dugpas are scattered around the room, laying out candles and other occultist paraphernalia in preparation for the ceremony. Helper is keeping a watch on Windom through the crack. He shouts his observations with concern._

HELPER:

That's not good... My Dark Lord! Someone just knocked him out, cold! They got him!

_Fredrick's face evidences no __fear__, and he merely scoffs._

FREDRICK:

So that's their game, is it? They think he can confront me on my home turf? Let him try. I love a good challenge.

_Seeing that his master is not concerned, Helper hoots with joy and looks back out through the crack._

**320\. EXT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT**

_The passenger side door of the white Sedan is opened, and someone is loading Windom's body inside. Windom grinds harshly against the car and his wallet is pushed from out of his pocket, falling to the gravel below. After the seat-belt is clicked into place, we pull up. Holding Earle's body is Dr. Ernold Paylen. He looks down at Windom and shakes his head._

PAYLEN:

This may be your fight... but, this is not the battleground.

_Paylen closes the passenger door and gets into the driver's seat. The limousine pulls away and speeds off into the night._

**321\. EXT. HIGHWAY 21, ERNOLD PAYLEN'S CAR – NIGHT**

_Many hours have passed, and it now the middle of the night, the Sun hidden far away on the opposite side of the Earth. Ernold Paylen's white Sedan hurtles along the lonely highway at a breakneck speed towards the Northwestern town of Twin Peaks. The entire world ahead is composed of darkness, the Moon hidden behind thick clouds. The only thing visible in the distance is the small area of road highlighted by the circles of Paylen's headlights. Everything beyond or behind is pure, empty, unforgiving blackness._

_Paylen is driving up the highway at a hazardous speed. Unsteady hands grip the steering wheel, and unnerved eyes dart from side to side. He inhales deep breaths and struggles to keep his mind focused. Windom is unconscious in the seat beside him, sleeping peacefully. His head bounces up and down with the bumps of the road._

PAYLEN:

Hold on, Earle. We're almost there.

_Paylen recklessly cuts corners and swerves between lanes as he tries to reach his destination as quickly as possible. Without any warning, a blinding bright white light envelops the the highway ahead. Paylen jerks the wheel violently and the car crashes into the street divider, rising up into the air and toppling over itself several times. The thundering concussive noises of metal wrenching and glass shattering echo out into the night, and then suddenly silence as the car lands upside down._

_After a few moments of recovery, the only sound being that of the hissing, broken radiator, Paylen opens his door and crawls out. His head is bleeding profusely, a giant shard of glass impaled deep into his forehead. He stumbles over to the passenger's side and pulls Windom out of the car. Ernold wraps the unconscious man's arm around his shoulder and limps him towards the beckoning white light. The blood leaking from his head wound flows into his eyes and runs down his nose, practically blinding him._

PAYLEN:

For both of our sakes, please be the man I always thought you were...

_The Hooded Figure steps out of the Threshold of bright white light. The solitary figure stands stoically, silhouetted in the middle of the road. Suddenly, he swoops down at Windom like a giant bird and carries him into the light. The Threshold closes behind them, returning the street to the dark of night, the flickering headlights from the topsy-turvy wreck being the only illumination. Paylen falls to his knees and then onto his stomach, dying from his head wound._

PAYLEN:

Goodbye, Paylen... You've been a good vessel...

_With his final breaths, Paylen calls out into the woods, venting his pent-up guilt and anger to someone who may or may not be listening..._

PAYLEN:

You still think this is for their own good!? Look at us! We don't protect these humans! They are fodder to us! Nothing but worms on a hook!

_Ernold laughs hysterically as he dies. His neck gives and his head drops, the long shard of glass touching against the pavement. The weight of his head slowly slides it down the shard of glass, sending it further into the back of his brain. The life leaves his body, and a bright white light spotlights around it. The Albino steps above the body and floats away into the night..._

**322\. INT. THE RED ROOM – TIMELESS**

_Windom stands at the entrance to the Red Room. Each of the walls that box him in are made up of red curtains that hang from the ceiling, and offsetting music fills the air. He proceeds forward tentatively, each step clicking noisily against the tiled floor. In front of him is an empty green chair. Perpendicular to it are two conjoined chairs which seat the Little Man and the Albino. They both smile up at him._

WINDOM:

I made it... I'm in the Waiting Room.

_The Little Man shakes his head in disapproval._

LITTLE MAN:

You were not led here. You are a puppet. And they made you dance.

_The Little Man speaks in the strange backward voice. He then turns his head towards the Albino and angrily reprimands her._

LITTLE MAN:

You cannot pull the strings! Bad things happen to those who don't follow the Rules!

_The Little Man snaps his fingers, then turns his back on the Albino. She does not speak, but anguish and __fear__ show in her eyes. She does not fully understand the severity of what is happening. Without warning, she moans in agony and doubles over. She rises and walks backwards into the center of the room, holding her stomach in pain and screaming out in torture. She bursts into an explosive ball of flame and disappears forever._

_The Little Man does not even turn his head at this spectacle. He eyes Windom, evenly and coolly. Windom tries to hide his __fear__. He speaks._

WINDOM:

Are you "the Arm"?

_The Little Man does not answer, but he smiles and raises a hand to his mouth, making a Native American whooping noise. He then gestures towards the back curtain._

LITTLE MAN:

Someone is waiting for you inside.

_The Little Man gets up from his seat and dances around the room. Lumbering jazz music plays and the Little Man is content to remain in his own world, ignoring Windom. Earle looks at the curtain and sees someone peering at him from the other side. The spying eyes quickly disappear and the curtain falls back into place. Curiously, Windom steps forward._

_When he opens the curtain, he sees a small hallway with an armless statue. Windom slowly travels the length of the hall and enters a second room. It is identical to the first room, except that it is devoid of any furniture. He walks towards the middle of it, chest held high._

_As Windom nears the center, a giant wall of flame is explosively conjured before him, causing him to leap backwards in __fear__, and blocking his passage further. A small opening forms in the center and out of it emerges the Dark Man, unscathed by the flames. He approaches Windom, grinning his insidious, evil, black-lipped grin. Windom, not containing the bravery he had hoped for, screams out in abject horror. The Dark Man stares at him, hungrily, matching Earle's scream in intensity. The strobe light effect goes off as the two black-suited men scream at each other._

_The Dark Man queerly steps aside as the flames die down behind him. Across the room is another Windom Earle. He looks identical to the genuine article, except that his eyes are clear, white and soulless. The creature stances off against it's quarry and then gives chase. Before Windom can make it back into the hall, the duplicate Windom grabs him by the collar and throws him backwards into the room. The Dark Man laughs in a disturbing backwards manner as the strobe light effect goes off once more. We then cut back to black._

**323\. EXT. GLASTONBURY GROVE – NIGHT**

_In the dark of night, a cold breeze passes through the dark forest, dead Pine needles and leafs being carried along in it's gust. Major Garland Briggs is trudging through Ghostwood Forest, looking for anything that might indicate unusual activity. He makes his way to the familiar landmark of Glastonbury Grove, taking it's twelve Sycamore trees into the path of his flashlight. He walks over to the white rock circle and notices the strange, black oil within. Uncertain of it's meaning, he heads off into the night to investigate, further._

_As we watch Garland continue off into the forest, we pan over and see that a man is hiding from view on the other side of a tree. It is Windom Earle. He looks off at his former Blue Book partner disappearing off into the brush, and giggles with joy. He jumps up into the air and clicks his heals together as he tastes his first breath of freedom. He runs off into the night in the direction opposite of Garland._

**324\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_We pull back out of Windom's memories to find him sitting on the stool in the same spot, looking at his two former friends. His dead stare disappears and his perfidious grin returns. He stands upright and looks into a mirror which hangs upon the wall. As he straightens out his tie and collar, and addresses his own reflection._

WINDOM:

How singularly innocent I look this morning... Have you ever seen such candid eyes?

_Windom is nowhere to be found on the other side of the looking glass. Instead, it is the Dark Man who stares back at him. They both laugh together with rapture. Windom staggers over to the phone and dials for the police. Unable to restrain his joy, he chuckles as it rings. Once the operator on the other line answers, his performance quickly shifts to that of a distraught friend._

WINDOM:

Operator, help! My wife and my best friend have been stabbed! Send someone, please!

_As the operator is still speaking, Windom hangs up the phone, continuing his playful laughter. He pulls out a syringe from his pocket, pulling the safety cap off with his teeth and spitting it across the room. Without reservation, he stabs himself in the arm and injects the psychotropic drug. After pocketing the medical device, Windom staggers towards the storage cabinets and rifles through some of the items until he finds what he is looking for. He pulls out a blue bucket marked "_DO NOT OPEN_"._

_Windom walks back over to the stool and slides it up close to Caroline. He sits and gazes down at her lifeless stare with perverse arousal. Opening the blue bucket, we see that it is filled with plaster. He sets to work splattering the plaster across her face, crafting her Death Mask. He laughs evilly and triumphantly. We slowly fade to a black which we hold on for a long while, the sounds of his ghoulish delight remaining long after the picture has faded..._

**325\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale's eyes open for the first time in a long while... His eyelids feel heavy, his lips chapped and his body numb. As he slowly gets his bearings, he realizes that he is in a cold, drab, emotionless hospital room. The walls, floor and ceiling are all a dirty shade of white, matched by his thin bedsheets. An INSENSITIVE DOCTOR with a clinical, emotionless demeanor is looking over his charts. Dale tries to speak, but it is difficult at first because his throat is so dry._

DALE:

Hel... Hel... Hello...

_The doctor turns towards his cracked voice, speaking softly but without any humanity._

INSENSITIVE DOCTOR:

Welcome back, Mr. Cooper.

DALE:

What happened...

INSENSITIVE DOCTOR:

You were stabbed. The blade penetrated your ribs and sliced into your left lung.

_Dale hyperventilates in shock._

DALE:

What about... Caroline...?

INSENSITIVE DOCTOR:

I'm very sorry. She passed away at the scene.

_Dale cannot move, speak, or feel..._

INSENSITIVE DOCTOR:

You've been asleep for two weeks. If that knife had penetrated even slightly to the right, you wouldn't have made it. You're lucky to be alive.

_Dale's face has retreated into a neutral state. He turns his eyes away from the doctor and looks off at nothing._

DALE:

If you believe that... then you know nothing of life beyond the simple act of pumping blood...

_The doctor exits the room in silent indignation. Dale is left alone in more ways than one..._

**326\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, LOBBY – DAY**

_Donald Cooper is sitting in a chair outside the room of his recovering son. He looks down at the tiled floor, his hands folded in his lap, quite literally twiddling his thumbs. Doctors, medics, orderlies and nurses pass by with haste, but Donald pays them no heed as he peers into his own reflection within the tiles, noting the impossible mangle his hair has become. A booming voice bellows out through the lobby, loud enough to grip even Donald's attention._

GORDON:

SPECIAL AGENT DALE COOPER! HE SHOULD BE IN A ROOM SOMEPLACE AROUND HERE'S! BIG KNIFE WOUND IN HIS GUT!

_Donald looks up to notice Gordon Cole being directed his way. The predominantly deaf man strides up to Dale's room and reaches for the doorknob. Donald politely intervenes._

DONALD:

Excuse me, but he's sleeping just now. We should give him some rest.

_Gordon shakes his head, clearly not having understood._

GORDON:

WHAT WAS THAT!? SORRY, DIDN'T QUITE GET IT, FRIEND!

DONALD:

I said, Dale is sleeping! He needs peace and quiet!

GORDON:

PEACE AND WHAT!?

DONALD:

QUIET! PEACE AND QUIET!

GORDON:

OH, I SEE! QUIET! QUIET, IT IS, THEN!

_Donald pats an empty chair beside him._

DONALD:

There's a seat right here, if you'd care to rest a spell.

GORDON:

A WHAT, NOW!?

DONALD:

A SEAT! IF YOU'D CARE TO REST!

GORDON:

OH, I SEE! THANKS A BUNCH!

_Gordon sits beside Donald and they both wait in far less than silence._

GORDON:

AND, WHO MIGHT YOU BE!?

DONALD:

Donald Cooper! I'm Dale's father!

_Gordon lights up and enthusiastically shakes hands._

GORDON:

REAL GLAD TO MEET YOU! HECK OF A SON YOU'VE RAISED IN THERE, MR. COOPER! HECK OF A SON!

DONALD:

Thank you very much! But, Dale's really a man of his own making! I didn't have much to do with how he turned out! It's a beautiful thing, the man he's become. A beautiful thing. And, you are!?

GORDON:

GORDON COLE! I'M THE DEPUTY DIRECTOR OF – ERRR, I'M DALE'S BOSS! SORRY WE HAVE TO MEET UNDER SUCH TERRIBLE CIRCUMSTANCES! WE'RE ALL HOPING TO HIGH HEAVEN THAT DALE WILL BE A-OKAY!

DONALD:

Of course... Thank you!

_Gordon looks down at the floor, squinting his eyes as he notices something is amiss..._

GORDON:

PARDON ME! DON'T MEAN TO BE A NAG, BUT WERE YOU AWARE THAT YOUR LEFT SHOELACE IS UNTIED!?

DONALD:

Oh, yeah... Yes, I leave it that way on purpose!

GORDON:

YOU DO!? WHATEVER FOR!?

_Donald mulls it over, searching for an explanation._

DONALD:

You know... I just had a particularly good day once, and I noticed that it had been untied all the while! So, I leave it this way now... just in case!

_Gordon lights up like a firecracker and shakes hands once more._

GORDON:

YOU DON'T SAY! REAL GLAD TO MEET YA, DON! DO YOU MIND IF I CALL YOU DON!?

DONALD:

No, that's fine!

GORDON:

REAL GLAD TO MEET YA, DON!

_As the two shake hands, the door behind them opens and the doctor calls out to them._

DOCTOR:

Excuse me, sirs. Thank you for waiting. Dale's been awake for about a minute now, so you can come on in, if you'd like.

_Donald nods in understanding. He gestures to Gordon, who missed the update, and both men head on inside._

**327\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Donald and Gordon enter the hospital room with trepidation. Dale Cooper rests in his bed across the way. Tubes and wires are hooked up to him, maintaining his vitals and keeping his heart rate in check. He is still too weak to move much, but he looks at both men with recognition. Regrettably, there is no trace of happiness or relief to be found in his gaze._

_Both Donald and Gordon, two men who hold nothing but __love__, respect and admiration for Dale, are heart-stricken to see him reduced to his absolute lowest. They do their best to project only sunny optimism, but both men are poor actors and are evidently distraught by their broken friend and child's visage before them._

DONALD:

Hello, son.

DALE:

Hello, father.

DONALD:

Doctor said you just woke up.

DALE:

Yes. There was some loud noise that startled me, but I'm not sure what it was.

GORDON:

HELLO, DALE! IT'S GORDON!

_Dale mildly smirks at Gordon's well-meaning cheer._

DALE:

… Perhaps sleep is overrated.

_Donald holds the hand of his only surviving relative, whom he'd almost just lost._

DONALD:

I got the call that you'd come back to us last night. Came here soon as I could. I'll be around for as long as you need me to be. You know that I love you.

_Dale lightly scoffs and swallows harshly, no longer able to look his father in the eyes. He offers a difficult conclusion he's arrived at._

DALE:

I think I finally know now what love is... for I have lost it.

_Donald senses a familiar emptiness of his own that he'd so hoped his son could be spared from ever experiencing._

DONALD:

I lost it too, son. Almost makes you wonder if it was ever worth it, doesn't it?

DALE:

That it does, father. That it does.

_Truly on a level field, father and son continue to express themselves without the further need of words. Gordon pipes up._

GORDON:

LISTEN, COOP! I HATE TO BURDEN YOU WITH MORE BAD NEWS... BUT, I FIGURE IT'S BEST YOU KNOW SOONER RATHER THAN LATER!

_Dale whispers instinctively..._

DALE:

Windom...

GORDON:

IT WAS AGENT EARLE WHO FOUND THE TWO OF YOU! HE'S NOT DOING SO WELL! HIS MIND HAS BEEN UNREACHABLE SINCE WE FOUND HIM! A WOUND JUST AS DEVASTATING AS THAT OF A KNIFE, I'M SORRY TO SAY!

_Dale meets Gordon's eyes and demands a straight answer._

DALE:

Gordon... What are you telling me!?

GORDON:

WINDOM EARLE'S LOST HIS MIND!

_Stricken by this development, Dale drifts ever further into hopelessness..._

**328\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale is laying in his hospital bed, sound asleep. His visitors have vacated, and only one ORDERLY remains. In the midst of his silent slumber, Dale's body undergoes a single spontaneous spasm, then lays perfectly still. The machine he's hooked up to flat-lines, prompting an incessant trilling to fill the room. The orderly rushes up to Dale and shouts for help._

ORDERLY:

Oh my God! Something's gone wrong! We're losing him! Help!

_As Dale's doctor rushes into the room, we lose focus and blur into gray..._

**329\. EXT. RIVER'S EDGE – TIMELESS**

_Dale Cooper, dressed in his black suit and tie, is laying on his back in a shallow River, gently floating along it's surface. He does not move, only laying limp and tired with his arms and legs spread out like a snow angel. Dale's expression is empty and lifeless, his stare fixed straight upwards at the dreary, gray clouds above. On the shore of the River at either side is nothing but browned, unhealthy grass. A few yards from his head is a waterfall that disappears downwards into a cloud of steam. There is no scenery beyond the drop, just a world wrapped in gray._

_Dale slowly drifts towards the Edge, and he is not struggling to prevent this eventuality. Rather, it appears as though he no longer cares. There is no sound in this world other than the soft, ambient streaming of water. Dale feels peaceful and relaxed, but lethargic. He wants only to sleep and pass over the Edge._

_Dale's journey towards the falls is a dawdling one, his body only budging centimeters at a time. As he drifts gradually closer, the serene quiet of the River's Edge is interrupted by sounds of hospital equipment and doctor's shouting. With reluctance, Dale feels himself returning to Earth..._

**330\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale slowly awakens, blinking his eyes several times as his vision refocuses. He hears the regulated beeping of his heart rate monitors, and the relieved sighs of the medical staff. Donald Cooper stands over his son, careful to not be in the way of the medical staff. He exales a sigh of relief once he realizes Dale's awake._

DONALD:

Dale! Oh, thank God! That was a close call we had, there.

_Dale does not respond._

DONALD:

There was a hemorrhage in your head that they didn't catch. Yesterday, it ruptured. Your heart stopped for two whole minutes. Son, you were dead! They barely got you back in time!

_Dale scoffs, poisonously._

DALE:

I wish they'd let me go...

_Though Dale says this under his breath, Donald hears it. There was even a hint of resentment therein. Donald is taken aback, and can find nothing to say. He returns to his chair in the corner, and the room remains in bitter silence..._

**331\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale is asleep in his hospital bed. He is alone, but the door is left ajar. Memories are stirring within him and his head fidgets uneasily from side to side. He experiences a vision..._

**332\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_Dale is slumped against the wall once more, his stomach wound bleeding. Caroline lays draped over his legs, and coughs up her last, bloody breath. Windom stands over him, looking down at the two. But, he is not heartbroken. He is not losing his mind with grief. Instead he is... laughing. Satisfactorily. Triumphantly. Devilishly._

**333\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale awakens, disturbed by this memory. With paranoia, he ponders the meaning behind the vision as he sits alone in his room..._

**334\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, DALE'S ROOM – DAY**

_Dale is being loaded into a wheelchair by his doctor, who is prepping him with cautionary advice._

INSENSITIVE DOCTOR:

Try not to react if he says or does something out of the ordinary. Just offer a warm face and do your best to smile. And, you should be prepared if... he might not even recognize you. Are you sure you still want to go through with this?

DALE:

Desire has no part in this, doctor. This is something that I must do.

_The doctor wheels Dale out of the room._

**335\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, HALLWAY – DAY**

_Dale is being rolled down the hallway towards the room Windom is being kept in. The doctor is wheeling him at an excruciatingly slow pace. A low rumble of feedback builds up higher and higher as he inches closer, and Dale's tension rises in suite. Finally, they reach the door, which the doctor opens._

**336\. INT. COUNTY GENERAL, WINDOM'S ROOM – DAY**

_Windom Earle crouches in the corner of the room, an empty husk of a human being. His complexion is pallid, his red eyes are encircled by swollen black rings, and his face is carpeted by a coat of prickly stubble. He stares unblinkingly at Dale. Drool dribbles out of his open-hanging jaw._

DALE:

Hello...

_Dale's voice breaks, as does his composure, as he offers the simple pleasantry. Facing his former partner is the most difficult thing Dale has ever had to do. For a long while, there is no response, or even an indication that Windom is vaguely aware of his company's presence, until Windom mutters something under his breath..._

WINDOM:

Chess, anyone?

_Dale looks up with confusion as, suddenly, Windom's expression alters completely. His emotionless pragmatism is replaced by a malevolent grin. He stands upright and begins chortling uproariously and uncontrollably. Both Dale and the doctor are shocked by the ferocity of his delight._

DALE:

Windom...

_Dale's words are lost under the explosive laughter. As the doctor turns to wheel him out, Windom abruptly ceases. Dale looks back and meets a cold, vicious stare. Their eyes locked, Windom utters two words, carefully chosen and crisply pronounced._

WINDOM:

Your move.

_Windom's laughter continues and echoes down the hall as Dale is wheeled out. We fade to black and hold..._

**337\. EXT. CEMETERY – DAY**

_Dale Cooper stands alone at the apex of a green, grassy hill. Behind him is spread a panoramic sea of graves. He hides both his eyes and his emotion behind dark shades. His slender body is wrapped beneath a thick overcoat, which blows against his frame from the heavy gusts of wind. In his black-gloved hands is clenched a bouquet of Gardenias._

_Before him is a simple headstone, engraved with the name: "_Caroline Earle_". The mediocre memorial is not befitting to the great woman whom it marks. Dale drops his small bundle of flowers onto the grass before it._

**338\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – DAY**

_Shoulders slouched and face long, Dale wanders into the office which he'd been away from for more than a month, now. Bill Raum and Aldo Smith look up from their desks at their estranged colleague with a loss of words, but a surplus of sympathy. Dale meanders over to his desk, mountains of paperwork having piled upon it's surface in his absence. He slumps down and stares aimlessly forward._

_Bill makes his way over to Dale's back corner of the office, a large brown parcel in his hands. He sets it upon Dale's table..._

BILL:

Coop... This was delivered to the safe house the morning after you were... found. It was addressed to you.

_Dale does not look up. Bill clears his throat and timidly offers a word of comfort._

BILL:

I... ah... I've been feeding the bunny for you. She's still at their house, if you want her, or...

_Bill trails off and politely excuses himself. With forlorn exasperation, Dale forces himself to open the package which he'd forgotten about. Inside he finds the ballerina dress and shoes, blue and silver, which he'd ordered as a gift for Caroline..._

**339\. INT. EARLE HOUSE, BEDROOM – DAY**

_Dale stands alone in the abandoned bedroom of the now empty, lifeless house. A voice-over from Gordon Cole is heard as we watch Dale walk around and painfully look over everything that reminds him of Caroline._

GORDON NARRATIVE:

I WANT YOU TO TAKE SOME TIME OFF, COOP! I WANT YOU TO LEAVE! GET AS FAR AWAY FROM HERE AS YOU CAN, AND TAKE AS LONG AS YOU NEED! IT WON'T BE EASY, I KNOW! BUT, TRY TO LET GO! TRY TO FORGIVE YOURSELF! CAROLINE AND WINDOM WILL NEVER COME BACK, BUT YOU CAN, COOP! GO HEAL! I'LL BE WAITING FOR YOU WHENEVER YOU'RE READY!

_Dale reaches the bedside table. With a trembling hand, he picks up the gold and red Music Box. Lifting it up to eye-level, he expends a few vain attempts to pry it open with his fingers, but the lock refuses to budge. In violent despondency, Dale smashes the Music Box against the table. The latch breaks and the lid cracks open._

_Dale brings the box up to his face once more and examines the interior. Inside is a small ballerina that bears a slight resemblance to Caroline. Dale takes the wind up key in his fingers and twists._

_The small woman begins revolving in circles, and a somber song plays. It is the melody which Caroline had hummed as they were waltzing together in the safe house. The song he had remembered from a distant dream. Dale falls to his knees and elbows, burying his face in the carpet, wailing in agony and uncompromising defeat._

DALE NARRATIVE:

I take full responsibility. I have failed.

_Across the room is Sirite, still living in her cage. The little rabbit casts an empathetical look towards Dale, acknowledging his pain. She wiggles her little nose and chirps in reassurance. Dale crawls over to the cage and opens the door. He pulls out Sirite and holds her closely to his body, hugging her tightly and refusing to let go. The two of them are all they have left. We fade to black for a long time..._

**340\. EXT. HONG KONG MARKETPLACE – DAY**

SUBTITLE:

Hong Kong

January 14, 1986

Six Months Later...

_The streets of Hong Kong are bustling with a diverse variety of people. An entire section has been blocked from traffic, and rows upon rows of stands are set up along the road. Merchants hock all sorts of wares under colorful canopies. Some are selling produce, some meat and animals, others carpets and fabrics, and others yet are selling trinkets of religious or aesthetic value. They are all peddling their merchandise aggressively, shouting enticing offers to passersby. We follow a man who wears the orange robes of a Buddhist monk as he wanders through the markets. He pauses for a moment to lift down his hood. It is Dale Cooper._

_It has been six months, and Dale is now a different man. He has regained a sense of confidence, but a part of him is forever gone. A smile crosses his face as he approaches a fruit stand. He points and gestures to the owner and hands over a few notes of appropriate currency. In return, he is handed a succulent dragon fruit. Dale peels it open and thoroughly enjoys the juicy contents within._

_Dale suddenly succumbs to the unshakable feeling that he is being watched. He scans the crowd and is given pause when he notices a stunningly beautiful woman. She has pale skin, frail limbs, coral-red lips, and short, black hair. It is Josie Packard. Though Dale has never met her before, something about her unlocks a vague memory from deep inside his subconscious..._

_Josie turns her head, looking for someone in the crowd, and does not seem to notice Dale. She is cautious to maintain a low profile and keeps her eyes hidden behind thick sunglasses. She heads off into the crowd. Dale does his best to follow behind, pushing his way through the people and squirming his way into any space that opens up._

_After a few moments, it seems as though Dale has lost sign of her. He makes his way to the edge of the street. Looking past the crowd, he can see a dock. Josie has reached it and is speaking with another beautiful Chinese woman, also wearing dark sunglasses. It is Judy Moon. The two enigmatic women are discussing something urgent, and a tiny wooden box exchanges hands. Judy is reluctant to take it, but Josie's insistence indicates that she cannot wait to be rid of it._

JUDY:

這就是那個木環嗎?

JOSIE:

對。就拿它。我不想再要它了。我忍受不了每天晚上睡覺時它都在旁邊。

JUDY:

你根本不Andrew。你認為你的新生活會幸福嗎?

JOSIE:

我會把事情處理好。在兩年內我將會是那個鋸木廠的老闆。

JUDY:

什麼意思? 你在計劃什麼?

JOSIE:

你不需要知道。

JUDY:

你就這樣放棄我們？你知道你應該是我們的關鍵。

JOSIE:

我不想再負這個責任了。對不起，姐姐。

JUDY:

這遲早都會發生。你不能一走了之。

JOSIE:

我可以試試...

_Dale watches them from afar for a few seconds until he begins to feel like a voyeur. At this point he turns and heads back into the crowd, wracking his brain to try and recall where he might recognize that woman from._

_As Dale walks towards the market we slowly pan up to the second story of the building nearby. Leaning out of a window frame is a man who watches Dale very carefully. He is an older Caucasian gentleman with short, white hair, widely spirited eyes and a rounded nose. He wears a robe made of an unusual maroon color. It is JONATHAN MOON __**[Malcolm McDowell]**__. He watches Dale not only with a vested interest, but also a familiarity, and perhaps a modest sense of pride._

**341\. EXT. HONG KONG, BUDDHIST TEMPLE – DAY**

_Dale is seated in a circle of Buddhist monks, each clothed in matching orange robes. They are sitting crisscrossed in a semi-circle outside of a temple, deeply entranced in meditation. The ground below them is laid with uneven stones and the walls beside them is a golden sheen. A large gold statue of Buddha smiles down at the men with his chubby cheeks._

_The robed congregation are all chanting a low hum and passing around a pipe filled with a powerful hallucinatory drug. Dale partakes of an inhalation and blows out a thick, green circle of smoke. His eyes go blurry from the high and he falls into a deep trance..._

**342\. DREAM SEQUENCE**

_Through Dale's mind's eye, we see a series of different scenes strung together, accompanied by a deep booming of feedback. As each scene transitions, the image momentarily fizzles with static..._

_Judy Moon is standing in a dark field at night under the bright, full Moon. She is wearing sunglasses, which she removes. Her eyes are a bright emerald green which begin glowing._

_The Golden Cross is being held by a gloved hand. The Formica bead in it's head radiates green energy._

_A __Capuchin __Monkey reaches it's paw towards us._

_Josie Packard gazes at us. At first, she smiles seductively. But an uneasy change suddenly comes over her. She holds her body, shaking with __fear__, and moans a heartbroken wail._

_Dale is sitting on the floor of the safe house, looking at Caroline's dead face once more. Standing above him is Windom Earle, who laughs, evilly._

_There is a loud explosive noise, and the strobe light effect goes off. Floating in the night is the white Death Mask of Caroline._

_ Jonathan Moon is gazing at us, wearing his curious maroon robes. His accent is that of a Londoner, and he speaks to Dale in a soft voice. His intonations stress compassion and a wanting to help._

MOON:

That's you, isn't it, Dale? My, my... it's good to see you, again. I know you don't remember me... but, I certainly remember you. I've been waiting such a long time... I'm an old man, now, and even though I've grown patient with my years... it's still a trying task, nonetheless. It is crucial that you not give up hope, Dale. You have it within you to save us all. You've been blessed with tremendous gifts. I know, because I have already witnessed them. Time is infallible. The future is certain. And, your course is predetermined. Everything will proceed cyclically. Godspeed.

**343\. EXT. BRIGHT FIELD – TIMELESS**

_Dale is sitting in a warm, grassy field, still dressed in his orange robes. He is comforted by his ethereal surroundings and feels at peace. The Sun shines brightly from the pristine blue sky, heating up Dale's skin. The green grass continues forever in all directions, and there seems to be nothing else to this world other than the uncompromising beauty of this amicable glade._

_A woman silently walks up and sits down on the grass beside him. It is Florence Cooper, looking just as young as she did when Dale was a boy. She is garbed in her white nightgown, which flows in the warm, gentle breeze. Dale greets her with a calm, strangely unsurprised tone._

DALE:

Hello, mother.

_Florence beams with pride as she looks upon her son._

FLORENCE:

It's so nice to see you, Dale.

_Dale noncommittally nods. Through he is too mellow to express his astonishment, this does not deter him from being inquisitive._

DALE:

How is it that you can keep visiting me?

_Florence congenially chuckles._

FLORENCE:

Don't trouble yourself with such details. I fear you are troubled enough as it is.

_Dale looks down at the ground, despair evidencing itself for the first time on his face. Florence puts her arm around her son, coddling him in the maternal way which only she can offer. She whispers soothingly into his ear._

FLORENCE:

You cannot blame yourself. You were betrayed. Remember that face...

**344\. INT. SAFE HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT**

_A loud, white flash brings us back to the night of the murder. Dale is leaning against the wall, Caroline's body draped in his arms. We pan up and see Windom laughing over them once more. But this time, we remain on the image long enough to see Windom hold up a knife in his hand. THE knife. Still dripping with Caroline's warm blood._

**345\. EXT. BRIGHT FIELD – TIMELESS**

_Another loud white flash brings us back to the grassy field. Dale reels back in mortification over the implications of this most recent memory._

DALE:

No... It can't be... I don't believe it...

_Florence holds her son's hand._

FLORENCE:

The truth is never an easy thing to accept... but, it's the only thing that can set you free.

_Like a little boy, Dale sniffles and turns to his mother, asking her for help with a timid plea._

DALE:

What am I supposed to do, mother? Help me...

_Florence stands up and towers over her son. A heavy gust of wind blows her hair and gown back._

FLORENCE:

You must confront your old friend. You must challenge him in a manner of his own choosing. And, you _must_ be victorious. That is the only way all of our collective misery can come to an end. He _cannot_ win this game of his, or we're all lost. I know you have what it takes to stop him.

_Dale queries, reluctantly._

DALE:

Why does it have to be me?

_Florence looks down at Dale and gives him the best answer she can._

FLORENCE:

Because it had to be someone.

_Florence grips Dale's hand even tighter._

FLORENCE:

All we want to do is help you.

_Dale's heart stops, and he suddenly feels very vulnerable and suspicious. He pulls his hand away from Florence's grip._

DALE:

… "We"? Who's "we"?

_The serene atmosphere has been ruined by a pervading intuition of trickery and distrust. The field grows dark as the Sun becomes obscured by thick storm clouds. Florence does not answer Dale's question, instead smiling ambiguously. She floats backwards into the air towards a bright white light. Butterflies swell in Dale's stomach, and his worry grows by the second. He shouts to Florence as she is disappearing._

DALE:

Who are you?!

FLORENCE:

You always ask the wrong questions...

_Florence shakes her head as she disappears. Dale screams in frustration._

DALE:

What am I supposed to do!?

_Everything becomes awash in a loud white flash, and the vision ends._

**346\. EXT. HONG KONG, TEMPLE – DAY**

_Dale wakes up on the stone floor of the temple, disoriented and confused. The other monks are still in prayer and pay him no mind. Dale sifts through his recent visions, trying to make sense of their cryptic clues and omens. He realizes, at last, that it's finally time to return home._

**347\. INT. DALE'S PITTSBURGH APARTMENT – DAY**

SUBTITLE:

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

February 1st, 1986

_Dale unlocks the door to his apartment for the first time in over half a year. He sets his hefty baggage down on the floor with a relieved grunt. In his other hand, he is carrying Sirite in her travel cage. He opens the door and places the rabbit on his down comforter, giving her pelt a pat._

_Walking across the room to the bedside table, Dale picks up his tape recorder, blows off the accumulated dust, and presses the button to commence recording. As he monologues, he sits on his bed and gently strokes Sirite as she lays in his lap._

DALE:

Diane, I believe I am ready, and have asked Gordon to return me to active status. My body is strong, my mind clear and without guilt. What I am about to mention, I am not ready to believe. Windom Earle was insane long before the events of that terrible night, and is guilty of the attack on me, and the murder of his wife. I cannot prove this, for he is far too brilliant an opponent, but I am sure of it in my heart. How and why Windom crossed this line, I do not know. His own abduction, I now believe, was one of the spirit, as opposed to a physical kidnapping. Windom was taken over by evil. The Windom I knew before that moment no longer existed. He was playing with us after that. Every event that took place was his doing. He kidnapped Caroline. He gave her the drug that took her to the edge of insanity. He allowed Caroline and me to fall in love so that he would have the pleasure of destroying it. I must do all that I can to make sure that Windom never again sets foot outside of that hospital.

_With morose determination, Dale concludes his entry with a satisfactory click._

**348\. EXT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC HOSPITAL – NIGHT**

_The antiquated insane asylum is isolated out in the lonely Pennsylvanian farmland, sequestered far away from urban civilization. The massive compound is louring and unwelcoming. In the darkness of the night, a cold wind blows amidst a cloudy sky. Thunder and lightening strike in unpredictable iterations, and a heavy rainfall cascades down from above, accentuating the claustrophobic atmosphere which encompasses the clinic._

**349\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC HOSPITAL, LOBBY – NIGHT**

_Dale stands in the main lobby of this prison of lunacy, liberally shaking his overcoat to relieve it of excess rainwater. Rainfall patters loudly against the high windows, and the elongated shadows of the droplets are cast upon the wall, slithering down to the floor. The rafters of the old institution creak noisily and the damp air is filled with the moans and wails of cells upon cells of psychopathic prisoners._

_Dale shifts uneasily as he waits in eerie silence. Idly glancing around the room, he is surprised to find DR. BAYBERRY __**[J. E. Freeman]**__ standing in the side doorway, staring at him from afar for an inappropriate length of time. The tall psychiatrist wears a white coat and thick, black-framed glasses that remain arced above his bulbous, acne-scarred nose. A thick, bristly mustache obscures his capricious grin. His scratchy voice attempts a polite formality, but every syllable he utters comes across as unintentionally threatening._

BAYBERRY:

Special Agent Cooper, isn't it?

DALE:

It is.

_Bayberry steps forward and extends a hand, towering over the Agent. His eyes grip Dale far more intensely than his shake._

BAYBERRY:

Dr. Bayberry. Proud owner and facilitator of this institution. Anyone admitted within these doors will find themselves in my... _tender_ care.

_Bayberry practically salivates at the word "tender"._

DALE:

I'm sure that's of great comfort to them.

_Without blinking, Bayberry repositions his eyes to look over his clipboard._

BAYBERRY:

And, you've come to see... _Ahhh_, yes... Mr. Earle. What a delight he's been. No disciplinary actions needed for him, _what_soever.

_Bayberry smiles giddily for some reason._

BAYBERRY:

Do you think you're ready to see him?

DALE:

Yes, I am.

BAYBERRY:

We'll soon see how ready, won't we...? Tea?

_Dr. Bayberry offers from a pot of freshly steeped tea, but Dale politely declines._

BAYBERRY:

You sure? It's Moroccan mint.

_Dale abstains. After pouring a cup for himself, Bayberry leads the way down a long, cell-lined hallway, and Dale follows._

**350\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC HOSPITAL, WINDOM'S CELL – NIGHT**

_Dale Cooper is rigidly standing upright against the corner of the padded cell. Windom Earle, tightly fitted into a straight jacket, sits crisscrossed on the floor in the furthest corner across the room. The two men are as distant from each other as possible, in a multitude of ways. Dr. Bayberry sits between them on the visitor chair, lightly sipping from his cup of tea and snacking on biscuits._

_Windom's pale face is unshaven, his tangled hair messy, and his swollen eyes red. He speaks in a whimsical lilt that does not conceal the menace beneath. His eyes dart from side to side, and he seems barely away of his surroundings. Dale asks a string of demanding questions and records the interrogation with his tape machine._

DALE:

Hello.

WINDOM:

You are a very good dresser.

_Windom holds up his firmly fastened arms._

WINDOM:

My gloves... do not have fingers.

DALE:

Do you know who I am?

WINDOM:

Yes... You are selling something.

DALE:

Where is Windom?

WINDOM:

He left.

DALE:

Where did he go?

WINDOM:

Around, here and there. Over hill and over dale... Dale, I will hit the dusty trail.

_Frustrated by Windom's incoherent answers, Dale accuses him pointedly._

DALE:

Why did you kill Caroline?

WINDOM:

Caroline?

DALE:

Was it because she loved me?

WINDOM:

You know... I don't think I like what you're selling.

DALE:

Did you stab me?

WINDOM:

Define "stab"... Spear, gore, impale, pierce, ram, stick, lance... That's it! That's the one!

DALE:

Why?

WINDOM:

To heal all the sick little children of the world.

DALE:

Where were you taken when you were missing?

WINDOM:

A rest stop... with the biggest Goddamn bathrooms you've ever seen!

DALE:

What does evil look like, Windom?

_Windom chuckles in amusement, shaking his head._

WINDOM:

You always ask the wrong questions... I don't think you've learned anything.

DALE:

What is the right question to ask?

WINDOM:

What _doesn't_ evil look like?

_Windom laughs._

DALE:

What did the old man teach you?

WINDOM:

Old man?

DALE:

The old man on the island who hanged himself.

WINDOM:

Hanged... He taught me everything.

_Windom howls fanatically, his depraved grin arcing so widely that his cheeks are nearly at eye level. We fade to black..._

**351\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE, MEETING ROOM – DAY**

_We fade into the private meeting room, still hearing Windom's maniacal laughter, only now it is emanating from Dale's tape recorder. He has played the interrogation to Gordon Cole, who is relocating his jaw in troubled cogitation._

DALE:

Gordon, I know as well as you do that, in and of itself, this tape proves nothing. But, surely you also must realize that...

_Dale can't bring himself to utter his former partner's entire name._

DALE:

_Agent_ Earle... is still a threat to himself and anyone that comes into contact with –

_Gordon holds his hand outward._

GORDON:

THE PAST MUST, REGRETTABLY, REMAIN IN THE PAST! BUT, IT'S CLEAR THAT AGENT EARLE SHOULD NOT LEAVE THAT HOSPITAL FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE!

_Both men nod to one another in agreement._

GORDON:

THERE'S ONE MORE THING, COOP! IT'S PRETTY OBVIOUS TO BOTH OF US THAT REMAINING IN PITTSBURGH WOULD NOT BE IN THE BEST INTERESTS OF EITHER YOU OR THE BUREAU! FINISH UP THE PAPERWORK THAT'S PILED UP ON YOUR DESK, AND THEN YOU'RE HEADED OFF TO SAN FRANCISCO!

_Dale dutifully accepts these orders with another nod._

**352\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICE – DAY**

_Special Agents Aldo Smith and Gordon Cole are standing expectantly against the office wall in a meager line of two. Special Agent Bill Raum steps out of the toilet, leisurely toweling his wet hands as if there were no time constraint. He notices the impatient queue of his associates in embarrassment._

BILL:

Are you waiting for me?

_Bill notices Dale Cooper standing before them, bags packed and in hand. He rushes compliantly to his space at the beginning of the queue, slapping his forehead._

BILL:

I'm sorry... I thought you were leaving next week...

_Dale makes his way down the line, formally voicing his farewells to his friends and colleagues, one at a time._

DALE:

Bill, you were the first Agent in the field to show me the ropes. You never hesitated with your criticism, nor did you hold me back on the sidelines. Thank you for keeping me honest.

BILL:

It's nothing, man... Really... Okay.

DALE:

Aldo, your appetite for food is matched only by your thirst for justice. I've no doubt that you will make a fine Agent one day.

ALDO:

Thanks. … Wait, what do you mean, "one day"?

DALE:

Gordon... I'm going to miss you most of all! You've really gone to bat for me, and your belief in my abilities and my spirit has firmly reinvigorated my own self-confidence! I hope that you'll always be there for me to turn towards!

GORDON:

THAT GOES DOUBLE FOR ME, COOP!

_Gordon and Dale exchange a goofy thumbs up, both men grinning like the Eagle Scouts that they are. Dale looks over the room once more, disappointed in the absence of someone he'd hoped to see..._

DALE:

Huh... I thought maybe Albert would be here to send me off, as well!

GORDON:

ACTUALLY, ALBERT ROSENFIELD SENDS HIS REGARDS AND HIS FAREWELLS! HE WANTED US TO PRESENT YOU WITH THIS HANDCRAFTED WICKER BASKET CONTAINING ASSORTED FRUITS AND CHEESES ON HIS BEHALF!

BILL:

He's not so hot with goodbyes.

_Aldo hands the wicker basket of perishable foods over to Dale._

ALDO:

Hey, uh... I think a few of the Wensleydale slices may have fallen out or something...

_Dale smiles, fondly._

DALE:

Thank you all so much. I've grown from a boy to a man within these very walls, and I've learned something valuable from each of you. I gratefully appreciate all your years of guidance, support and patience. I go now to a far distant coast, where I hope to find my feet faster than I struggled to find them here.

ALDO:

Goodbye, Dale.

BILL:

Audios, Coop.

_With a final nod, Special Agent Dale Cooper leaves the Pittsburgh branch, forever..._

**353\. EXT. SAN FRANCISCO – DAY**

SUBTITLE:

San Francisco, California

May 11th, 1986

_The majestic, but thoroughly condensed San Francisco Peninsula is softly lit by the early morning Sun, which peaks from out behind a thick layer of clouds. The choppy blue waves of the expansive ocean carry sail boats and liners which careen listlessly under the glistening orange of the wrought-iron Golden Gate Bridge._

**354\. INT. DALE'S CHINATOWN APARTMENT – DAY**

_Dale opens the door to his new dwelling, chest held high, credulous optimism radiating from his animated face. The room is slightly dusty, but with a little tidying up, Dale reckons he can transform it into a commodious abode. He rests his heavy baggage on the ground and places Sirite's cage under the window. Opening the cage door, he allows the little bunny to stretch her legs and explore her new home. Dale halts and gives the room a sniff, detecting the appetizing aroma of fried animal fat emanating from beneath the floorboards..._

DALE:

Could it be...?

**355\. EXT. GOOD HAPPY BAKERY – DAY**

_The small, family owned Chinese bakery displays pork buns and rice cakes in it's windows, as well as the thoroughly cooked carcasses of some choice ducks. From our vantage point outside, we can see Dale through the doorway, looking over the doughnut holes in the case with unapologetic gluttony. The CHEERY BAKER, who is busily wiping down the glass with a cloth rag, shouts pleasant suggestions to Dale in a slurred foreign tongue._

BAKER:

歡迎光臨! 你喜歡甜甜圈嗎？我會給你一個特別優惠價！買十二個算你十個的價錢!

DALE:

Ni hao! Boy, those doughnut holes certainly are enticing, aren't they?

BAKER:

它們的味道好極了! 你應該嘗試一下！

_Dale checks his watch._

DALE:

Still early. I could do with a small breakfast. I'll take twenty-four, please!

_Dale points to the doughnut holes and uses his hands to indicate twenty-four. The cheery baker snickers merrily as he prepares Dale's box._

BAKER:

你這麼英俊和苗條，怎麼能吃得下那麼多麵包? 你的新陳代謝肯定像大黃蜂一樣快!

_Dale chuckles to himself, shaking his head._

DALE:

You know... I've visited your country on two occasions now... and I still can't understand a damn word.

**356\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, VIOLENT CRIMES DIVISION – DAY**

_The vibe of the San Francisco FBI Office is completely different from that of Pittsburgh. Gone is the sleepy, laid back lethargy. Instead, Agents are frantically rushing to and fro, hands loaded with papers, barking out orders._

_Dale emerges from out of the elevator and slowly steps into the room. The manic pace and fevered pitch grind to a halt almost instantaneously as everyone takes notice of the new recruit's unannounced presence. Dale is met with cold stares as he traverses the length of the room, time seeming to slowly stretch out during his journey towards the empty, solitary desk forgotten in the furthest corner of the room._

_To Dale's left is Special Agent FERRIS HEDDA __**[Dennis Hopper]**__, a short, ill-tempered man with a wispy white goatee and a uniquely wavering voice. He is crouching over a table with his foot up on a filing cabinet, puffing away at two cigarettes, speaking with Special Agent DEWEY GODDARD __**[Henry Rollins]**__, a thick-necked young man with a mouth aligned into a permanent scowl. As Dale walks past, both Agents look up at him with disgust._

HEDDA:

Aw, for Christ's sake...

_Hedda throws some papers onto his table in fury, kicks it, and sulks away. Goddard looks back down at his paperwork, avoiding Dale's stare. Poor Cooper already feels ostracized, no longer brave enough to attempt introducing himself._

_Atop the empty desk is a name placard with "_Dale Cooper_" hastily scribbled on it. The work space is situated right next to a dusty air conditioner that is badly in disrepair. Long strips of condensed dust and dirt accumulated from years of neglect are caught in the grating, blowing in the artificial breeze like streamers. The cantankerous clatters and rumbles of the machine are nearly deafening._

_Dale sits down in his swivel chair. Immediately upon situating himself, the rampant airflow messes up Cooper's slicked-back hair and blows it wildly about. With a subdued groan, Dale opens his briefcase and unpacks his personal items._

_GWENDOLYN __**[Kim McGuire]**__, Dale's scatterbrained assistant, waddles up behind Dale carrying a coffee pot and cup. The woman is short and stout, her jiggling hair is an impossible mesh of blonde tangles, and her grating voice comes out as a squeaky shrill. She puts the Styrofoam cup on Dale's table and pours him a hot cup of Joe._

GWENDOLYN:

Hello, Agent Cooper. I hope you find your work station to be satisfactory.

DALE:

Oh... yes, it's fine.

GWENDOLYN:

I'll be your assistant. My name is Gwendolyn.

DALE:

Gwen?

GWENDOLYN:

Gwendolyn.

DALE:

Gwendol–

GWENDOLYN:

Here, shall I write is down for you?

_The assistant impatiently grabs a pen and paper and begins scribbling down her name, but Dale quickly stops her and pulls the paper back towards him._

DALE:

No, no. It's fine. I've got it. … It's a... nice name...

_Dale absentmindedly takes a sip of his coffee and screams in repulsion, regurgitating his mouthful back into the cup and spilling some of the hot liquid on his legs. He gags and splutters as he rests the cup back on the desk._

GWENDOLYN:

What's wrong?

DALE:

Nothing... Phew. I thought I'd built up a tolerance. But, that is... wow.

GWENDOLYN:

I won't leave the pot, then. Is there anything else I can do for you?

DALE:

Well, actually, has this air conditioner been dusted recently?

GWENDOLYN:

I wouldn't know. That's the janitor's gig. And, uh... Confidentially...

_Gwendolyn leans towards Dale, cupping her hand to the side of her mouth, shielding what she has to say from eavesdroppers, and whispers..._

GWENDOLYN:

He's not very good.

_Dale rolls his eyes._

GWENDOLYN:

Let me know if there's anything else you need. Bye-bye.

_Before Dale has a chance to respond, Gwendolyn has waddled off into the back room. Special Agent Hedda strides towards Dale with anger boiling within his fiery eyes. Agent Goddard is trying to dissuade him from pursuing conflict._

GODDARD:

Come on, man. Don't. It's not worth it.

_Hedda pushes through his partner's attempt at diplomacy and stands at the edge of Dale's desk. He peers down at him, arms akimbo. A forced smile is stretched across his face and his words are pleasant, but his passiveness is exaggeratedly phony, every word dripping with disdain._

HEDDA:

Hey, new guy! How's it going? You settling in there, okay? You comfy?

_Dale is completely oblivious to the reasons behind the man's quarrel, so he decides to act as pleasantly as possible._

DALE:

Everything seems to be fine.

HEDDA:

"Everything seems to be fine". You hear that Goddard? Everything's fine! We're lookin' up roses, aren't we!? My, oh my... We're just pleased as peaches to hear that...

GODDARD:

Come on, man...

HEDDA:

So, why'd you leave Pittsburgh? A bit dull, was it? Wanted a change of scenery?

_Tired of this game, Dale speaks frankly._

DALE:

Have I done something to offend you, Agent...

HEDDA:

Hedda. And, yes, as a matter of fact, maybe you have offended me a little bit. Maybe by showing up here with your soft, farm-fresh little face, coming and going wherever you please –

_Dale firmly interrupts, stands, and coolly takes control of the situation._

DALE:

I beg your pardon, Agent "Hedda"...

HEDDA:

Hedda, yeah...

DALE:

But, I was transferred here by the Deputy Director of the Crimin –

HEDDA:

Do you have any idea how many of us would love to transfer out of San Francisco?! Huh!?

_Dale is still mouthing Gordon Cole's full title to himself, which he didn't have a chance to finish before being cut off. He asides..._

DALE:

Wow, that really _is_ a mouthful...

HEDDA:

You're in Pittsburgh for just over three years, man! And, then you just decide you want to fly out here, and sure enough, blammo, here you are! Jesus Christ, I've been in the field for fifteen years! You know how many special favors I've gotten? Here, let me count 'em for you.

_Hedda takes his hand and mocks trying to figure out the math on his fingers. After a few seconds of lousy acting, he clenches a fist and shakes it at Dale, attempting intimidation._

HEDDA:

Yeah, that's right. Fucking squat!

_Hedda then proceeds a faux conversation with Goddard, to further illustrate his point of perturbation._

HEDDA:

Hey, Goddard, maybe I should let my Federal witness die on my watch, too, huh? Pull out the puppy dog eyes afterwards? Maybe then, the bossman will give me a back massage, send me on a vacation? I always liked Caccamo. What do you figure?

_Dale is speechless at this outrageous offense. In a far less confrontational fashion, Goddard also criticizes Dale._

GODDARD:

He's right, though, man. San Francisco's no place for screw-ups. We take witness protection very seriously.

HEDDA:

Don't expect any silver platters handed to you, here, man. You're gonna have to earn your fucking place, ya got it?

_A lightening fast assailant with blonde hair comes up behind Hedda, restraining him into an arm lock and shoving him against the wall. It is Special Agent Robin Masters._

ROBIN:

Agent Cooper has earned his place, and then some. Top of the class at Quantico and a devil behind an automatic. The only person that could out-gun him was me... and I've put down punks like you, before, Hedda. Maybe it's _you_ that should earn your place.

_Robin releases Hedda with a push._

ROBIN:

And, Agent Cooper didn't "allow" his crime witness die on him. If you'd ever bothered to check his file, you'd know that Special Agent Cooper was personally ambushed by an assailant while on active watch duty. Dale's taken a knife in the lung for his country... what have you done?

_Hedda straightens out his jacket and attempts to retain his dignity._

HEDDA:

I've taken my share, Masters. I've had to deal with shit you could only dream of.

_With a disdainful sniff, Hedda inspects Dale like a piece of refuse._

HEDDA:

We'll see how he fares.

_Hedda points a condemning finger._

HEDDA:

But, we don't tolerate failure here, get me, man?

_Hedda and Goddard walk away, noses upturned. Robin turns to face Dale for the first time since her entrance, waiting until the last possible moment to look him in the eyes._

ROBIN:

I'm sorry, Dale. I don't mean to swoop in like some kind of uninvited guardian Angel, but I just couldn't bare to see you greeted with that kind of –

_Dale is still shaking his head in disbelief._

DALE:

Robin... It's so good to see you...

_Dale walks to her, dismissing the need for her apology. They join in a spontaneous and completely natural embrace. It doesn't last long, however, and they break away to assume professional positions that end up being far more awkward by comparison._

ROBIN:

It's good to see you, too.

DALE:

I'd completely forgotten you were working at this branch. We have so much to catch up on...

_Robin does not hide her disagreement._

ROBIN:

Do we? Things have been pretty slow, actually. I'm stuck in the White Collar Crime Division, which is about as thrilling as the "White Paint Drying Division".

DALE:

Oh, I see...

ROBIN:

And, anyway, it was my understanding that you came here to forget about your past...

DALE:

I suppose that's true...

_An awkward beat passes._

DALE:

So you read up on my file?

ROBIN:

I happened to see your name mentioned on a transfer sheet, and I thought I'd see why.

_Another awkward beat passes, and Dale scratches the back of his head, desperate to find something to do with his hands, which seem unnaturally attached to his body at the moment. Not afraid to acknowledge the momentary discomfort, Robin exhales a nostalgic sigh._

ROBIN:

What excitable little kids we were back at the Academy, huh? A little too naïve about our futures, maybe... Guess things didn't turn out quite as well as we'd hoped, did they?

_Another painful moment passes as Dale somberly nods his head. Rather than endure further awkward silences, Robin makes an agreeable suggestion as she excuses herself._

ROBIN:

Look, I have an idea. Why don't you finish unpacking, and then meet me out on the gun range... for old time's sake?

DALE:

Sounds like a plan.

_With an alluring half smile, Robin takes her leave. Dale sits back down at his desk, flitting through paperwork. Glancing up, he notices Hedda across the room, sending a dirty glance barreling his way. Dale ignores this and looks back down at his papers, his hair blowing in the loud, dusty AC air._

_Dale shifts in his seat and discreetly scratches an itch between his legs while no one is looking. He yelps in surprise when he realizes that Gwendolyn is crawling out from underneath the table, emerging from between his legs. She is tangled up in a mess of cords._

GWENDOLYN:

Excuse me, Agent Cooper. Just had to plug in your desk lamp.

_Gwendolyn flips the desk lamp on and off a few times to test it's connectivity, and then waddles away as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Dale is left feeling somewhat violated._

**357\. EXT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, SHOOTING RANGE – DAY**

_Dale and Robin stand side-by-side on the gun range, the cloud-obstructed rays of Sunshine back-lighting their imposing figures. They fire off their semi-automatic rifles towards a pair of human shaped targets out in the field ahead. Once their ammunition is depleted, the targets are brought forward along a motorized overhead track. The two Agents assess the results._

DALE:

A tie. It would seem as though my aim is improving.

ROBIN:

Or, perhaps mine is slipping.

_Dale chuckles._

DALE:

We certainly were both kindred spirits, weren't we?

_Robin shrugs._

ROBIN:

Maybe we still are.

DALE:

Do you think our paths will be crossing often in the office?

ROBIN:

I doubt it, to be honest. I never see anyone on your team. And, I tend to develop tunnel vision when I'm on a case, as I'm sure you do, too.

_A moment passes as Robin contemplates several roundabout methods of inviting Dale out. Eventually, she just goes for it._

ROBIN:

Would you like to get dinner with me? I can show you the nice side of the City, since I'm sure work will have you submerged in nothing but the grit and grime.

_Flattered, Dale smiles._

DALE:

Dinner would be great. Another high class cocktail bar, is it?

ROBIN:

Actually, I was thinking the exact opposite...

**358\. EXT. GARY'S GREASER GARAGE – DAY**

_Gary's Greaser Garage is a 1950's era diner offering inexpensive, overly-fattening Americana cuisine. Along with the interior, which is packed with satisfied clientele, the diner also offers a drive-through. The logo painted on the brick wall of the building depicts a grease dripping anthropomorphic cartoon hamburger sporting a leather jacket and combing back a well-greased hairdo._

**359\. INT. GARY'S GREASER GARAGE – DAY**

_The retro diner is full of families and couples, all enjoying their unhealthy, carcinogenic cuisine. A quadruple-stacked hamburger, drizzling a thick coat of grease down it's sinewy surface, is plopped on a table before a petite young girl. The burger is easily the same size as her head. The antiquated jukebox plays "__Love__rs Who Wander" by Dion and the Belmonts._

_Dale and Robin sit across from one another in a padded booth. They each take synchronized first bites out of their massive hamburgers. Droplets of excess condiments splatter onto the tabletop as they are pushed out through the back edge of the bun. As the two chew the immense quantities of food into a level permissible of swallowing, they emit moans of ecstasy. Finally, Dale is the first to speak..._

DALE:

Man, oh, man. Sometimes I forget how truly therapeutic it is, biting into a hamburger.

ROBIN:

It's so dense, and yet it compacts so succinctly in your mouth. That's what's so gratifying about it.

_Dale grins._

DALE:

I think you may have just nailed it.

_The two take successive bites, continuing to chew their food in silence and nodding their heads lightly in enjoyment. After a boisterous swallow, Robin opens conversation._

ROBIN:

I hope I get transferred to Violent Crimes. That's where I've always wanted to be.

DALE:

Yes, I think you mentioned that to me before. Why are you so set on it, if I may ask? It's far from glamorous.

ROBIN:

I didn't join the Bureau to tattle on my tax-dodging neighbor. I'm here to save lives. I can handle the worst this world has to offer. I know that I can.

DALE:

Really? What's your secret?

_ The jukebox goes silent for a moment, and it transitions to "Crying" by Roy Orbison. Robin is the first to notice, her eyes widening with recognition._

ROBIN:

I don't believe it...

DALE:

What?

ROBIN:

It's Roy Orbison...

_Dale ponders for a moment, not picking up on the relevance._

DALE:

So it is...

_Robin hesitates for a moment as Dale remains clueless._

ROBIN:

Don't you remember? Roy Orbison was playing the first night we went out.

DALE:

Oh... You're right... What a remarkable coincidence...

_Robin appears to be slightly wounded that Dale forgot this memorable detail. Cooper just nods his head, with nothing further to say. Robin forges ahead._

ROBIN:

I'm going to be transferred one day. I've been pestering our director daily for the past four years. You never know when he's going to crack.

DALE:

Robin...

_As much as it pains him, Dale sternly expresses his feelings._

DALE:

The past should remain firmly behind us. The present holds enough obstacles.

ROBIN:

But, the future offers so many possibilities.

DALE:

Thank you for dinner, Robin.

_Though kind, the response was cold. Robin accepts his verdict, and the two finish their meals in silence._

**360\. EXT. LONELY SAN FRANCISCO HIGHWAY SHOULDER – NIGHT**

_The brutalized nude body of a young man is bound and gagged, lying abandoned on the side of the slick highway. Special Agents Ferris Hedda and Dewey Goddard are looking down at the body, while Dale Cooper is assembling a roadblock of traffic cones behind them. The boy's skin has turned a shade of blue, and his limbs are limply wrapped around his torso. There are several bullet holes in his head and chest and strands of rope are bound around his extremities._

_Dale rushes back to join his partners by the body, almost slipping on the wet asphalt. Hedda has two soggy cigarettes in his mouth, puffing away like a smokestack as he looks down in disgust. Goddard intermittently clicks his jaw, the after effects of a successfully minimized Turret's syndrome._

HEDDA:

Aw, for fuck's sake...

GODDARD:

Poor kid.

HEDDA:

Gotta be no more than eighteen years old, man... Jesus Christ...

GODDARD:

What's the motive, chief? What do you figure?

_Hedda does a lot of general pointing during his hypothesis, seemingly disinclined to examine the body too closely._

HEDDA:

Look at the way he was bound and gagged. Held against his will... maybe kept in a closet or something? Maybe the kidnapper was ransoming him, whatta'ya think? Check to see if any rich kids've turned up missing.

_As Agent Goddard nods his head in mindless agreement, Hedda ponders the turn of phrase he'd just used._

HEDDA:

Say... that's a funny saying, isn't it? "Turned up missing".

GODDARD:

Yeah...

HEDDA:

'Cos how can you... turn up... if you're missing?

GODDARD:

Right...

HEDDA:

'Cos... if you're... missing... then you haven't...

GODDARD:

… Turned up. I got it, yeah.

HEDDA:

Yeah... Yeah... Fuckin' a...

_Hedda loudly hacks some of the excess mucus lodged in the back of his throat, and then deposits it out onto the asphalt. He resumes his vague pointing._

HEDDA:

Lessee... He was shot... one, two, three, four, five...

GODDARD:

Six.

HEDDA:

Six times. The motivation's gotta be money. Money, right? Money.

DALE:

You're wrong. The motivation was sexual.

HEDDA:

Excuse me?

_Dale snaps his elastic gloves onto his hands as he prepares to thoroughly examine the body. Much to the puzzlement of his accompanying Agents, he pulls out his tape recorder and turns it on._

DALE:

Gwendo –

_Dale stops himself, the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He clears his throat and begins again._

DALE:

Diane, I am standing over the body of a young man approximately twenty years of age, dumped next to a highway.

_Dale stoops down, his gloved hand checking the body for wounds and marks. He spreads apart the cheeks of the young man's buttocks._

DALE:

Examining the victim's anus, it's clear he was sexually molested numerous times.

_Dale carefully lifts up one of the young man's arms, examining the strands of rope tied around his wrists._

DALE:

The method in which he was tied does not suggest he was held captive against his will... at least not at first. The knots are the kind used often in bondage.

HEDDA:

And, how the fuck do you know that? What are you, some kinda closet queer?

DALE:

No. I happen to be an expert with rope tying techniques. Furthermore, judging by his age, body type, and the needle marks along his arms, it's my hunch that he was a prostitute. Run a check of all murders involving young males of approximately the same age that have occurred over the past year that remain unsolved. Also, check all deaths of male prostitutes that are outstanding, whether listed as accidental or other. Start within the San Francisco district, and then widen the search as far as necessary to determine if this is a repeat offense. It feels to me that we have all the makings of a serial killer here.

_Dale clicks off his tape recorder as Hedda and Goddard exchange skeptical glances. Hedda throws his cigs into the ditch and lights up another pair as he challenges the upstart young Agent's assumptions._

HEDDA:

Now just one fucking second there, Dr. Sherlock. Let's get an ID on the body first. There's no way all that shit you just spewed is gonna turn out to be true. No one can tell that much just from looking at a fucking body on the street, man! No one!

**361\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, CONFERENCE ROOM – DAY**

_Dale stands at the front wall of a lengthy conference room. Spread vastly before him is a gargantuan meeting table. A half-dozen stern-faced Agents attend the meeting, all wearing matching black and white uniforms and sitting upright in identically attentive postures. Incongruous amongst the other listeners, Agents Hedda and Goddard recline in the back of the room, feet up on the table, seemingly unimpressed._

_Dale is presenting his findings via a slide-show. Documents of the victim's personal records and photos of the autopsy are projected onto a white mat behind him, which he points to with a long metal stick. As Dale addresses the collective, he also records his speech into his tape recorder, which is resting on the front edge of the table._

DALE:

Our victim was named Michael Betanelly. He was, indeed, a prostitute, as I suspected. He was nineteen years old, addicted to speed, and had run away from home at the age of sixteen. His parents live in Minnesota. My guess is that he was abused. There also are two known murders involving male prostitutes that are outstanding, both occurring over the last eight months. Death, whether violent or by drug overdose, is not uncommon among this group, so local authorities never made the connection.

_Hedda sputters from the back of the room, almost hidden in a fog of tobacco smoke._

HEDDA:

These Goddamn homos. We have to let them live right next door to where we sleep every night, and then they just rack up the fuckin' body count... What a joke.

_Dale diplomatically pushes forth._

DALE:

Regardless of your own personal policies of acceptance, Agent Hedda, we have a sick man to catch.

HEDDA:

Sicker than usual...

DALE:

And, we need to get out onto the streets until we find someone who saw Michael before he disappeared.

**362\. EXT. SEEDY SAN FRANCISCO STREET – NIGHT**

_Night has fallen, and Dale is walking along a side street popular for it's male prostitute population. Cars slow down as the drivers scan the human beings which are up for sale, perusing the selection for the most attractive specimen. A large group of men stand together, winking and offering suggestive hand gestures to the prospective buyers._

_Dale, dressed in his Federal issue overcoat, sternly approaches the group of men. His body language evidently displays that he is not interested in buying. He holds a picture of Michael Betanelly high into the air and shouts firmly into the crowd._

DALE:

Excuse me! Did any of you see Michael Be –

PROSTITUTE:

Go fuck yourself, narc!

DALE:

Alright, then...

_Dale meagerly turns about face, rethinking his questioning strategy._

**363\. EXT. SAN FRANCISCO SOLICITATION ALLEY – NIGHT**

_A light rain is drizzling into a filthy back alleyway, pattering loudly against the bags of garbage packed haphazardly into the overloaded dumpsters. A side door, which leads into a red-lit nightclub, momentarily opens, flooding the alleyway with loud rock music. Leaning up against the brick wall beside the door is SPIDER __**[Sting]**__. The scrawny young Englishman has his red hair glued immovably into uneven turrets and his lips curled into a recalcitrant snarl. He wears short shorts and a tank top, advertizing his hairless, boyish limbs. His outfit is further accentuated with a plethora of unnecessary spikes, belts and bits of glitter._

_Special Agents Hedda and Goddard are walking through the alleyway, checking beneath their heels to ensure they haven't stepped in anything unpleasant. Everything about their mannerisms betray their Federal Agent status, and they make no attempt to hide their intentions. As soon as Spider spots them, he knows trouble is heading his way. Hedda pulls out the picture of Michael Betanelly and rolls his eyes as he engages in questioning. Goddard cracks his knuckles._

HEDDA:

Hey, fruitcake! You seen this kid recently?

_Spider engages his lip snarl into overdrive and spews venomous contempt at the lawmen._

SPIDER:

What d'you pigs want wif Michael?

_Hedda smiles sadistically. He turns to Goddard and gestures towards Spider with his head. The two Agents roughly grab the young prostitute and pull him away, ignoring his protests._

**364\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, INTERROGATION ROOM – NIGHT**

_The interrogation room of the San Francisco office looks more like a torture cell than a place for civil questioning, consisting only of a cold metal table surrounded by windowless walls. The room's visibility is almost entirely compromised by the smoke producing pair of cigarettes inserted into Agent Hedda's goatee-lined mouth._

_Spider sits at the table with his arms crossed and his eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, refusing to cooperate. Agents Hedda and Goddard pace back and forth, wiping the sweat from their brows in frustration. The room's only door opens and Dale Cooper enters the room, thoroughly confused as to why he's been kept out of the loop._

DALE:

Agent Hedda? Who's this?

HEDDA:

Oh, just some trash we picked up off the side of the road. Twinkletoes, here, identified Michael from his picture, isn't that right? He knows him.

DALE:

Why wasn't I notified immediately?

HEDDA:

Relax, Cooper. We got this under control, man. Let us show you how things are done here in the City. Take it, Goddard.

GODDARD:

When's the last time you saw this man?

_Goddard thrusts the photo of Michael into Spider's face, but he turns his head away and remains silent. Hedda shouts and slams his palms against the table to get Spider's attention._

HEDDA:

HEY! My partner asked you a question! When's the last time you saw this creep!?

SPIDER:

I don't got nuffing to say to coppers.

_Hedda mockingly sniggers._

HEDDA:

"Coppers"? What kinda talk is that? Some kinda homo lingo?

SPIDER:

It's English.

HEDDA:

Well, what're you speaking English for!? This is America!

_Hedda thinks for a moment, then slams the table in anger at his own faux pas._

HEDDA:

British. I thought he said, British. Fuck!

_Dale walks up to the two Agents, reassuringly, and puts his hands on their backs. He politely ushers them out of the room._

DALE:

Look, why don't you two take a breather, huh? I can see you've been working him over for while. I'll try my luck, okay?

_Hedda nods in frustrated complacency, and the two Agents leave. Dale closes the door behind them and drags a chair up next to Spider's table, sitting casually with the seat backwards._

DALE:

Hi, there. I apologize for the way my associates may have treated you. My name is Dale. And, yours is...

_Dale quickly looks at the clipboard detailing his personal information._

DALE:

Spider.

_He looks up and flashes a meager smirk._

DALE:

I like it.

_Dale places the photo of Michael on the table in front of Spider._

DALE:

Did you know this man?

_Spider doesn't answer._

DALE:

Well, I'm afraid he was found murdered.

_Concern shows in Spider's eyes, his defenses lowered._

SPIDER:

Murdered?! Michael? Bloody hell, I knew somefing was up wif dat dodgy Sedan...

DALE:

What dodgy Sedan was this?

SPIDER:

Last Tuesday, right, I saw Michael getting into a blue Sedan.

DALE:

Early or late model?

SPIDER:

Erm... Late.

DALE:

This was on Tuesday? Two days before his body was discovered... Did you get a look at the driver?

SPIDER:

No, I didn't...

DALE:

Did the car have any distinguishing marks, or anything to indicate it might have been dangerous?

SPIDER:

No. It was kept pretty fit.

DALE:

Well, then, how did you know something was wrong?

SPIDER:

Well... because I never bloody saw him again!

DALE:

Ah.

**365\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, HALLWAY – NIGHT**

_Dale leaves the room, walking quickly. Hedda and Goddard clearly haven't been waiting long, as they are just filling up their cups of coffee. Hedda has to spin around as he rushes to keep up with Dale. He chuckles as he presumes Dale's misfortune during his interrogation._

HEDDA:

How did that go for ya? Tough little punk, isn't he?

DALE:

Michael was last seen on Tuesday, and the killer drives a late model blue Sedan.

_Hedda stops in the hall, looking forward in awe. We close in on his face as his eyes widen and his two cigarettes sag in his mouth._

HEDDA:

Wow... This guy's good, man.

**366\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, CONFERENCE ROOM – DAY**

_Dale and the presiding Agents are in the exact same positions as the previous briefing. Dale speaks at the front of the room using his slide-show presentation, while Hedda and Goddard lounge in a cloud of smoke in the back. Dale records his speech with his tape recorder once more._

DALE:

If my hunch is correct, we have a killer who has killed eight times over the last two years in a straight line from Illinois to San Francisco. And, if he is true to his pattern, will probably kill again sometime in the next several weeks. Nothing has turned up, yet, on the blue Sedan. I notified all authorities that a serial killer is working in this area and most likely will kill again in a very short time. Getting cooperation from the male prostitutes, however, is another matter. Few of their experiences with law enforcement officials in the past have given them a sense of trust. We do know this much: Of the eight murders, six of the victims were last seen in gay bars. It would appear that the only available action to take at this point is to go undercover. I've made contact with a gay desk sergeant of the local PD...

_Hedda and Goddard snigger._

DALE:

Let me rephrase that. I'm being assisted by another officer who wishes to remain unidentified. He has lent me some leather goods, and directed me to the most likely nightspot where the killer would show up. The last victim was known to frequent this establishment, though I cannot place him there for certain on the night of his death.

HEDDA:

Wait a minute... You mean, you're going into one of those gay bars, dressed from head to toe in leather, in order to find this guy?

DALE:

That seems to me to be the necessary step, yes.

HEDDA:

Holy shit...

_Hedda contemplates for a moment, then courageously stands up and shouts._

HEDDA:

I'm going with you!

_An uncomfortable silence settles over the room, and all eyes focus on Hedda._

DALE:

… Really?

GODDARD:

… Really?

HEDDA:

You're a brave man, Cooper, heading into the heart of darkness. I'm not gonna let you do it alone!

_Dale winces through his diplomacy._

DALE:

Ah... I'm sure I'll be fine...

HEDDA:

Strap me up in leather, man! I'll do whatever it takes for my country!

_Dale and Goddard eye Hedda suspiciously._

**367\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, LOCKER ROOM – DAY**

_The moist room is filled with rows of lockers painted in an aesthetically unpleasant mucky orange. The police desk sergeant is sitting on one of the benches, cinching the strap on Dale's black leather BDSM costume. Once fully fastened, Dale walks around in a circle to test the fit, every movement squeaking and stretching with an audible struggle. Dale waddles over to his locker and pulls out his tape recorder._

DALE:

Diane, the feeling of leather against skin is a surprisingly sensual experience.

**368\. EXT. Y CLUB – NIGHT**

_Special Agents Dale Cooper and Ferris Hedda are both dressed in skimpy leather bondage outfits and are strutting very slowly towards the Y Club. They review the details of their cover._

DALE:

Now, remember... I'm Donald, you're Mickey, and we're two swingers looking for an additional party-goer to add to our threesome.

HEDDA:

Why do you get to be Donald? I want to be Donald.

DALE:

Donald is my father's name. And, this is my sting operation, so I get dibs. Will you keep your mind focused on the job, please?

HEDDA:

Yeah, yeah...

DALE:

Remember, there's going to be legions of single men in there, and chances are likely that someone may make an advance towards you. Will you be able to maintain your composure and not blow your cover?

HEDDA:

_Nothing_ is getting blown in there, man, including my cover! I'm an officer of the law. There's nothing I can't handle.

_The two Agents turn the corner and find a vast sea of men awaiting them. The small sub-continent of males are all standing in a slowly advancing, well-organized queue, and every man is uniformly handsome, muscularly-toned, and fashionably garbed. The outside of the bar is intentionally nondescript, with only a neon pink "_Y_" atop the roof indicating the establishment's existence. Both Agents stand aghast, their jaws dropped._

DALE:

Wow.

HEDDA:

Wow.

DALE:

I haven't seen this large a group of men gathered together since my time in the Boy Scouts...

**369\. INT. Y CLUB – NIGHT**

_The interior of the Y Club is very tasteful, with multicolored lights basking the room in flashing glows of neon. "Same Old Scene" by Roxy Music is playing very loudly, and the majority of the dance floor is filled with cavorting men enjoying themselves. Dale is sitting at the bar, currently in mid-conversation with a LEATHER-CLAD BARTENDER. Though the man's large build might have otherwise been imposing, his demeanor is comfortably cheerful. Both men must yell in order to be heard over the raucous dance music._

LEATHER-CLAD BARTENDER:

Oh, hey, I'm an Eagle Scout, too!

DALE:

Really!? You're the third Eagle Scout I've met in here tonight!

LEATHER-CLAD BARTENDER:

That's where I learned how to hogtie!

DALE:

Remarkable! Listen, I was told to meet someone here! Not sure what he looks like, but he drives a blue Sedan! You seen him?!

LEATHER-CLAD BARTENDER:

Sorry, sweetie, I haven't! But, I can do you one better! I've got a yacht! I'm heading to Hawii for six days next week! Care to join me? You're boyfriend's not invited, though.

DALE:

Boyfriend?

_The bartender points towards the opposite side of the club. Dale follows the implied angle of the finger and spots Hedda sitting up in the V.I.P. Lounge. He is smiling widely and enjoying himself with a group of handsome Latino men, one of whom is dressed like Carmen Miranda, including a colossal basket of fresh fruit towering atop his head. They laugh and flirtatiously wag their fingers at one another. Dale smiles in disbelief._

**370\. INT. Y CLUB – NIGHT**

_We fade to the dance floor, later in the night. "Hot __Love__" by T. Rex is playing, and rays of bright white laser light shine across the smokey room. The club is packed to the walls with hedonistic dancers, some of whom are showing off impressive pizazz with their jiving moves._

_Dale is in the middle of the floor, seeming to be having an enjoyable time dancing. Although a little stiff, his rhythm is quite good. While he shimmies and shakes, he slowly looks around the club, trying to capture a glance of every fellow dancer's face and record them to memory._

_A tall man with glasses dances up to Dale, looking him provocatively in the eyes. After dancing for only a few measures, he leans over and whispers something into his ear. Dale smiles and politely shakes his head "no". After a friendly pat on the shoulder, Dale exits the dance floor and heads outside for some air._

**371\. EXT. Y CLUB – NIGHT**

_Dale steps outside, steam emanating off of his body in the cool night air. He pulls out his tape recorder._

DALE:

Diane, I have been propositioned five times in the last hour. Not one fit the profile, though several were exceptional dancers. I must be doing something I didn't do when I was in college, because I never had that kind of luck before...

_As Dale lowers his recorder, he glimpses a suspicious blue Sedan circling the club. He rushes back to the door and leans inside, gesturing across the room for Hedda to come out. Turning his attention back to the road, Dale narrows his eyes and absorbs every detail of the car._

_The club's door opens once more and Hedda rushes out. Dale is startled as he looks back to face him, noticing the greasy lipstick smears besmirching Hedda's face. Dale does not bring it up and speaks once more into his recorder._

DALE:

The vehicle is a blue Ford LTD, license plate "California 203-CYH". I suspect we are looking for an out of state plate, but this is still the biggest fish on the line at the moment. He's headed my way.

_Dale gestures to Hedda with two fingers to "keep his eyes open", and then approaches the suspicious vehicle. We stay with Hedda, watching Dale grow smaller as he nears the stopped blue Sedan. The window has rolled down and Dale leans in, speaking to the driver._

_Hedda keeps a careful watch on his partner, wanting to be ready in case he needs any back-up, but his attention is abruptly pulled to a Dodge Dart on the other side of the parking lot. The driver is screaming at a young prostitute as he kicks him out of the vehicle. As the young man falls to the pavement, the driver puts the car in reverse and pulls back, promptly shifting the car into high gear and attempting to run the young man over._

_We cut to the inside of the blue Sedan from the perspective of it's occupant, who we do not see..._

DALE:

I strongly suggest you tell your wife about this, or it will only cause severe problems for your marriage in the long run...

_Dale is alerted to the sound of the shrieking and pulls his head back out of the window just in time to see the prostitute hit by the front corner of the Dodge Dart,. Although the young man is not seriously injured, it wasn't for lack of trying. The driver speeds off, but Dale and Hedda are already running towards their car to give chase._

**372\. EXT. SAN FRANCISCO BACKROAD, FEDERAL CAR – NIGHT**

_The Federal issue car, which Dale and Hedda had arrived in, comes streaking out from behind the Y Club. They speed and swerve as they try to catch up with the suspect. Dale is driving, and Hedda is riding shotgun. As they accelerate, Dale feels the car strangely shuddering._

DALE:

When was the last time this vehicle underwent routine maintenance?

_Hedda can only shrug. Dale feels the brakes going out as they descend down a rather steep hill. The car picks up speed with the assistance of gravity and they close in on the Dodge they are pursuing. As Dale's body bounces up and down on the bumpy road, his voice vibrates._

DALE:

I'd like to point out to you, Agent Hedda, that more law enforcement officers are injured in high-speed pursuits than any other kind of job-related accidents!

HEDDA:

Duly noted, man!

_The car crashes through a shrub on the edge of someone's lawn and smashes into the back of the Dodge Dart, sending both vehicles into a ditch._

**373\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, INTERROGATION ROOM – NIGHT**

_The ANGRY SUSPECT from the Dodge Dart is sitting behind the cold metal table in the smokey interrogation room, heatedly proclaiming his innocence. Two police officers stand on either side of him, ensuring his containment. Agents Cooper and Hedda have changed back into their black suits and ties._

ANGRY SUSPECT:

What do you want from me? I lost my temper, okay? That little bastard was charging three hundred dollars for a little hand work! Now, is that a rip off, or what? For Christ's sake, he's not even hurt, is he?

_Dale sternly leans forward on the table._

DALE:

The rising inflation of back-alley sexual favors aside, it is against the law to attempt to run someone down with your vehicle. Book him.

_Dale leaves the man with the officers and swiftly leaves the room, Agent Hedda tagging along behind._

**374\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, HALLWAY – NIGHT**

_Dale and Hedda close the door behind them and loiter in the hallway for a tense respite. Both Agents help themselves to refills of hot coffee and pace as they talk._

DALE:

That's not our guy.

HEDDA:

You sure? He seemed pretty violent, man.

DALE:

He's just a lonely single man with anger issues, lashing out because he was being swindled. We'll book him for assault, but he's not our killer.

HEDDA:

Then who is?

_Dale tries to find an answer, when he hears his name being shouted from down the hall._

GODDARD:

Agent Cooper!

_Agent Goddard runs down long hall behind them, a plastic evidence bag in his hand. He is out of breath, and his jaw habitually clicks. As he reaches them he bends over, suffering from a side ache._

DALE:

What is it Agent Goddard?

_Goddard tries to speak intelligibly through his panting and his Turret's, which seems more difficult for him to control when winded._

GODDARD:

Just came from the morgue... Forensics found something under Micheal's toenail... It's a strand of blue carpet from the floor of a car...

_Dale takes the small plastic bag from Goddard and holds it up to the light, closely examining it's contents. We zoom microscopically close, and inside we see a spindly thread of blue rug. Dale snaps his fingers in epiphany._

DALE:

That's him! License plate "203-CYH"! Run that plate, and let's get us a warrant!

**375\. EXT. BUSH'S HOUSE – NIGHT**

_A Federal issue car parks along the sidewalk of this dark neighborhood. Special Agents Dale Cooper, Ferris Hedda, and Dewey Goddard emerge from the vehicle and walk with concentrated intent up the driveway to a white, classically suburban home. All of the inside lights have been extinguished, and the relatively mundane house is cast in an ominous shadow. Dale has his warrant displayed outwardly as they approach the front door. He raps loudly on the door and shouts in a commanding tone._

DALE:

Mr. Bush! This is Special Agent Dale Cooper with the Federal Bureau of Investigation! I have a warrant to inspect these premises! Please, open up!

_As the three Agents wait for a reply, Agent Goddard investigates a side window. He notices a few plant pots sitting upon an outward facing sill. Putting his hand above his eyes to shield the reflection, he checks whether he can get a good look inside the dark house. Much to his surprise, Goddard notices that buried in the soil of the potted plant is a human digit._

GODDARD:

Uhm... Guys? Is that a thumb?

_Dale and Hedda's heads poke out from behind Goddard, giving the small sample of human remains a cursory glance. They all reach the consensus that it is now time to enter the house by force. Dale quickly jiggles the door handle to check whether it is locked._

DALE:

Alright, Agent Hedda, would you please prepare the battering ram?

HEDDA:

Right on, man! I love using that thing!

_Hedda enthusiastically leads the way back to the Federal issue car and pulls the heavy battering ram from out of the back trunk. The three men wield it, back up, and charge up the drive towards the house, bursting through the locked door._

**376\. INT. BUSH'S HOUSE – NIGHT**

_As the door is wrenched open, the lock ripping from out of the wall, the three man stumble together into a pile upon the floor. As the Agents pick themselves up and dust themselves off, they are overtaken by a horrific aroma._

GODDARD:

Phew! It smells like a Goddamn slaughterhouse in here!

DALE:

That's precisely what I was afraid of.

_The Agents arm and raise their Glocks at the ready as they explore the house. The living space is small and very plain, with no effort given to add a sense of personal identity to the furnishings. All evidence would indicate that the house is currently empty._

_As Hedda rounds a corner into the kitchen, he notices a jar of vinegar resting up on the counter. Though we only get a momentary glimpse of it's contents before we pull away, it is stained into our subconscious that floating around inside the transparent jar is a severed male sex organ. Hedda covers his mouth in shock._

HEDDA:

Holy shit, man! That's not what I think it is, right?

_Goddard comes up behind him and examines the jar._

GODDARD:

Fuck... And, I thought I'd seen everything that could be pickled...

_Dale is in the dining room, examining a collage of amateur photographs tacked up onto a wooden post-board. They evidence restrained men in various stages of torture and disembowelment. Dale pulls one photo from off of the board and examines it closely, anger swelling in his eyes. Hedda calls to his new partner for support, his voice cracking._

HEDDA:

What's the call, man? Whatta we do?

_Dale narrows his eyes._

DALE:

We wait until our fish comes back home to spawn. Then we fry him.

_We hold on Dale's eyes, and then we fade out._

**377\. EXT. BUSH'S HOUSE – NIGHT**

_It is sometime later that night when the blue Sedan pulls up into the driveway. Sitting in the car is MR. BUSH __**[John Quade]**__, a morbidly obese man whose flappy face is carpeted with a thick coating of prickly gray hairs. His squinty eyes are magnified by his comically thick prescription glasses, and he has an unflattering gap between his front teeth._

_With a labored moan, accompanied by pitiful gasps for air, Bush strains his muscles to the limit as he undergoes the grueling task of pulling his hefty body into a standing position. He waddles up the drive towards his front door, fishing in his back pocket for his set of keys. As his stubby, sausage-like fingers struggle to manipulate the thin keys on the ring, he notices that the door has been damaged and remains ajar. His heart leaps up into his throat, and he scans the windows for any intruders._

_Sensing that someone is inside his house, Bush turns tail and attempts to make a mad dash. Unfortunately, the best he can manage is an elephantine stumble. Before the three Agents have even exited the house, Bush has already tripped over himself and fallen face first into his white picket fence, smashing through it and rolling down the hill towards the street. After gravity has finished with him, permitting his immense body to stop cartwheeling, the Agents tackle him and cuff his hands behind his back._

**378\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, INTERROGATION ROOM – NIGHT**

_Bush is seated at the cold metal table of the smokey interrogation room. Agents Hedda and Goddard lean against the wall at the back of the room, allowing Dale the honor of working the suspect over. Bush's forehead is sweating profusely, pools of bodily fluid collecting in the over-laying flaps from his extra chins. Dale's tape recorder is switched on and recording their exchange._

DALE:

On the night of June 14th you picked up a male prostitute by the name of Michael?

BUSH:

Yes, I think it was his name.

DALE:

Where did you take him?

BUSH:

My house.

DALE:

What did you do once you got here?

BUSH:

We had drinks... and I touched him... then I tied him up and shot him.

_Goddard and Hedda eye each other in disgust._

DALE:

Have you killed others?

BUSH:

Yes. I shot them, too. Strangled one.

DALE:

Why?

_Bush pauses in incredulity at this question._

BUSH:

… They asked me to.

_The room fills with stoney silence as the three Agents stare in jaw-dropped disbelief. Bush smiles in relief, as if it feels so liberating to finally admit this after keeping it a secret for so long. Dale picks up his recorder and leaves the room._

**379\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, HALLWAY – NIGHT**

_Dale stands alone in the hallway, watching the ceiling fan spin round and round. With a drained sigh, he speaks into his tape recorder. His voice is brittle and fatigued._

DALE:

Diane... I think I want to get out of Violent Crimes for awhile...

**380\. EXT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_The Pittsburgh FBI Offices stand proudly in the midday Sunlight. Gordon Cole is on the phone, his voice carrying so far it can nearly be heard from outside._

GORDON:

I DUNNO, COOP! IT'S GONNA BE A HARD SELL TO MY SUPERIORS!

**381\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_Gordon is standing upright, yelling loudly into the receiver of his phone. Bill, who was taking a nap on his desk, buries his face in some paperwork, trying to block out the sound._

GORDON:

YOU'VE JUST BEEN TRANSFERRED! AND, AFTER A LEAVE OF ABSENCE, TO BOOT! THEY WOULDN'T WANT ME TO BE SHOWING FAVORITISM! BUT, I UNDERSTAND YOUR FEELINGS! IF I REMEMBER CORRECTLY, THERE WAS ANOTHER DIVISION THAT WAS LOOKING FOR SOME NEW BLOOD AT THE MOMENT, BUT I CAN'T RECALL WHICH ONE! LET ME LOOK IT UP! IT MIGHT NOT BE ANYTHING SPECTACULAR, BUT I'LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO! THAT'S THE BEST I CAN PROMISE!

**382\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, WHITE COLLAR DIVISION – DAY**

_Special Agent Robin Masters stands anxiously outside the San Francisco White Collar Division Senior Agent's office, her hand gripping the doorknob but not finding the courage to turn it. She does not know why she's been called here today, but she knows what she's hoping for. With a deep, nervous breath, and a silent prayer to whomever may be listening, she twists the knob and opens the door._

_Seated behind his imposing desk is Senior Agent EDWARD CASPARY __**[John Glover]**__, a fastidious man of remarkable intelligence and intimidating elocution with a nose as upturned as a ski jump and a face so thin it looks as if it has been forcibly compressed. His office is meticulously organized and maintained, and evidences it's owner's anal retentiveness._

_At the moment, both of Agent Caspary's hands are hidden below the desk, jerkily manipulating something between his legs in a feverish up-down motion. Upon noticing the door being opened, he looks up at Robin with wide-eyed surprise._

CASPARY:

Oh! Hello, Agent Masters. I didn't expect you here so soon.

ROBIN:

Oh my God... Should I come back, later?

CASPARY:

No, no, no. It's fine. I don't mind. It should only take me another minute to finish up. Take a seat.

_Robin sits down in the guest chair at the edge of the desk, feeling uncomfortable. She tries to avoid looking at her superior as he continues struggling with something below the desk, his elbows bouncing up and down._

CASPARY:

Here we are... Almost there...

_Robin idly clicks her tongue as she waits for him to finish. After a breathy climax, Caspary exhales with satisfaction._

CASPARY:

There we are. That's got it.

_Agent Caspary brings his arms up above the table, revealing a Rubick's cube that has been successfully color aligned. He places the executive toy beside a Newton's cradle, carefully aligning it with the corners of the desk mat so that it is perfectly symmetrical with the contours of the table. Once he is satisfied with it's placement, he dusts his hands off and addresses Robin._

CASPARY:

Now then, do you know why you've been called here, Agent Masters?

ROBIN:

Chris said it was about my latest bust, right?

CASPARY:

Indeed it is. Vincent Webb's downfall. His embezzlement scandals exposed. It's big news. Even made the front page of this morning's Chronicle.

_Caspary tosses a copy of the local newspaper onto the desk for dramatic effect, it's headline mentioning Robin's latest collar. As soon as she has absorbed the paper's relevance to her, Caspary hastily removes it, blowing the dust off of his table and straightening any minor dishevelment which the newsprint has stirred._

CASPARY:

You've already established yourself as the finest Agent in this division, but you seem intent on continually outdoing yourself. This the kind of attitude we like to reward. Ordinarily, we'd be looking at a promotion... but you and I both know that's not what you want, is it?

ROBIN:

You know what I want, sir.

CASPARY:

It's nothing short of remarkable, the work ethic you've demonstrated in an area which you have absolutely no interest in. It makes one ponder the potentials of transferring you to a division in which your heart was truly invested...

ROBIN:

Do you mean it, sir?

CASPARY:

It's been a long time coming. As of next week, you'll be working in Violent Crimes. Congratulations, Agent Masters.

_Agent Caspary pushes his chair behind him and stands up, proudly extending a hand. Rapturously, Robin rises and shakes with her superior._

ROBIN:

Thank you so much, sir! I won't let you down!

CASPARY:

There was never any question of that, Agent.

_Robin smiles with gratification and gratitude, excusing herself back out through the office door. As soon as her back has turned, Agent Caspary moves his post-shaken hand towards a container of sanitizer, liberally squirting the anti-bacterial fluid all over his palm and compulsively rubbing his hands together._

**383\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, VIOLENT CRIMES DIVISION – DAY**

_The office is frantic once again with overworked Agents rushing about, straining themselves to the limit just to keep up with the tasks of the day. Dale Cooper, a great deal of pressure recently lifted from off of his shoulders, wanders in from the kitchen at a far more leisurely pace than his colleagues. He is munching on a glazed doughnut and carries a briefcase which he uses to pack away his possessions._

_Upon the top of Dale's desk is a note sloppily scrawled in marker. He curiously picks it up. In large letters, it reads "_My name is NOT Diane!_". Dale chuckles as he crumples it up and tosses it in the nearest waste bin, eager to forget it's existence. As he leans over to load up his briefcase, he feels the dusty air conditioning blowing in his hair for the last time._

_Special Agent Ferris Hedda strolls up to Dale with his hands in his pockets. In his mouth is only one cigarette, instead of the usual two._

HEDDA:

Packing up and moving on, already, huh? Some guys get all the breaks...

_Hedda's lips form a good-natured grin, while still managing to keep hold of the wavering cig._

DALE:

Oh, I think you'll function just fine without me.

HEDDA:

So, what division you going to be in this time?

DALE:

Truthfully, it hasn't been decided. I'm being tossed into a few different ponds. Time will tell where I will float and where I will sink.

HEDDA:

Well, good luck to you, man. You really showed us you're one a hell of an Agent.

DALE:

Thanks, Ferris. Likewise to you. Going undercover is a dangerous thing, and you certainly proved your courage and determination that night.

HEDDA:

I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a ball.

DALE:

Keep me updated on how things are going with your new boyfriend. And, should the state of California ever pass marriage equality laws, I expect to receive an invitation to the wedding.

HEDDA:

You sly dog, you. Stay out of trouble.

_Hedda slaps Dale on the shoulder and meanders back to his own desk. Dale takes his loaded briefcase under his arm and heads towards the elevators. He turns back to look at the office once more, and then leaves it behind him, forever._

**384\. INT. SAN FRANCISCO FBI OFFICE, VIOLENT CRIMES DIVISION – DAY**

_We transition to the same office, many hours later. The room is now sparse, and the remaining Agents sit behind their desks, drowsily filling out paperwork. The elevator doors slide open to reveal Special Agent Robin Masters, emerging with a dazzling smile. A small red ball has been fastened to the edge of her nose, giving her the showmanship of a performing clown. She steps forward, juggling a trio of oranges with her gloved hands. She demonstrates a well-honed prowess and manages to continue the fruits' rotation with uninterrupted fluidity as she steps briskly across the room. As the seated Agents look up from their dull papers and notice the vaudevillian performance, they immediately join in clapping and cheering her on._

_Robin's enthusiasm rises as she inches toward her intended destination. The arc of the oranges' ascent almost reaches the roof as she nears the lonely office desk in the corner. Abruptly, Robin stops with a start. Her heels drag into the carpet and the three oranges fall to the ground._

_Inescapably evident before her is the evacuated desk, every last remnant of it's former occupant forever gone. Robin's spirited elation instantly dissolves into numb complacency. She silently picks up the oranges from the floor, pulls the red ball from her nose, and drops the items into the garbage bin as she walks off towards the restrooms._

**385\. EXT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC HOSPITAL – NIGHT**

_The ominous insane asylum sits in solitary upon it's desolate hill. The winding shadows cast from the dead trees which surround the compound is nothing compared to the twisted perversion that is locked inside. A shabby scarecrow is planted in the barren fields of the foreground, it's face carved from a dirty potato sack. Although no eyes exist within it's tattered sockets, it gives a vague impression of staring outwards. What it might be staring at is anybody's guess..._

**386\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC HOSPITAL, WINDOM'S CELL – NIGHT**

_Windom Earle hunches over a portable chair beside a foldaway card-table, his straight-jacket sleeves unfastened for the moment. Across the table from him is Dr. Bayberry, sitting rigidly upright with a leg crossed. The doctor's piercing stare never leaves his patient as he carefully observes every facial tic and twitch, giving each an accompanying diagnosis._

_Windom, however, keeps his gaze fixated downwards at the table between them. They are playing a game of Chess together with a cheap, stained, germ-ridden plastic board that's been passed around between the clinic's many patients for decades. A television set sits off against a side wall, the only permanent furnishing inside the small cell. It is turned on to a dim static that casts the entire room in a soft, eerie blue glow._

BAYBERRY:

Are you sure you wouldn't like us to install a cable line? With your perfect behavior record, you're certainly entitled to a bit of luxury.

WINDOM:

Television is a lost cause. Thanks all the same, but no. I much prefer the white noise.

_Windom advances a piece on the board._

BAYBERRY:

Nurse Steins tells me you've been getting on well with your neighbor, Billy. Is this true?

WINDOM:

Indeed. Billy is a splendid fellow.

BAYBERRY:

What have you two been discussing?

_After a moment of strategic planning, Dr. Bayberry makes his move. Without hesitation, Windom promptly follows with another advancement._

WINDOM:

Our plans once we leave this place.

_Dr. Bayberry raises his eyebrows, impressed._

BAYBERRY:

So, you think you'll be leaving us?

WINDOM:

Most assuredly. This is naught but a detour along my path.

_Windom's obsessively-concentrated, bloodshot eyes observe the doctor's hand as he moves his remaining Bishop into a carelessly vulnerable position._

BAYBERRY:

What did Billy say his plans were?

WINDOM:

He wants to open a frozen yoghurt stand. Isn't that quaint?

_Windom chuckles as he takes Bayberry's Bishop._

BAYBERRY:

And, how about yourself? What will you do once you leave us?

_Both men make alternating moves as Windom considers the question. His voice lowers in pitch and his eyes narrow._

WINDOM:

Improve upon my game.

_Bayberry stalls by sliding his Rook sideways._

BAYBERRY:

What is it about Chess, exactly, that you find so stimulating?

WINDOM:

Life itself is a game of Chess.

_Bayberry scratches his chin as he ponders a follow-up._

BAYBERRY:

If that were true, and your life was a game of Chess... how would you say you're faring?

_Windom makes another Chess move, then meets Bayberry's eyes for the first time during their exchange._

WINDOM:

Why... I'm winning, of course.

_Windom picks up his Queen from off the board and hold it up close to his face. He runs his fingers along the plastic cross that juts off of it's head, chafing it's dull edges between thumb and forefinger._

WINDOM:

March the 2nd, 1989... Does that date hold any significance to you?

_Dr. Bayberry humors Windom and considers for a moment._

BAYBERRY:

I don't believe so. Why? What does that date mean to you?

WINDOM:

That's the day you're going to die.

_Dr. Bayberry is stumped by the statement, stuttering a response._

BAYBERRY:

What makes you say that, Windom?

WINDOM:

Oh... a little birdie told me.

_Windom looks up into the corner of the room. In his mind's eye, he is reliving a long, long distant memory. We zoom into his irises as we transition to another place and time..._

**387\. INT. THE RED ROOM – TIMELESS**

_We pull out of the eyes of the Dark Man as he stands alone in the Red Room. Spread before him are three portals that resemble pools of oil. Inside each portal are visions of different points in time and place. Through the portal to the left, he watches a much younger Windom Earle, who has just ignited the letters written to him in gasoline at the Project BlueBook facilities. Through the portal to the right, an older Windom Earle is dressed in women's clothing and bashes a teenage Bobby Briggs in the head with a log._

_The Dark Man pays special attention to the portal in the middle, which shows Windom Earle sitting in his cell with Dr. Bayberry. It is years later from the previous scene, and Windom's hair is longer and shaggier, his stubble overgrown, and his eyes redder and madder. Windom lays out on the floor playing a solo game of Chess while Dr. Bayberry watches and studies, smiling at his star pupil. They are alone in silence for a moment, when Windom makes his final move._

WINDOM:

Checkmate.

_As Windom rises from the floor, he explodes into a fit of maniacal laughter, releasing years of pent-up frustration._

BAYBERRY:

What's so funny?

WINDOM:

I'm... I'm finished! My waiting period is at an end! I can finally leave this place!

BAYBERRY:

Now, just one moment –

WINDOM:

NO! Not one moment longer!

_Before Bayberry can even react, Windom grabs the Queen from the Chess board and rushes towards the doctor, shoving the piece down his throat, forcing it deep into his windpipe. Windom watches as the doctor chokes on the Chess piece lodged in his esophagus, a blood and saliva concoction overflowing from the edges of his mouth. After he sheds his final breath and falls lifelessly to the floor, Windom removes the keys from his belt and heads outside._

_The Dark Man watches the portals play out their scenes, taking diligent notes in his mind and memorizing every action. He says only one word in a strange backwards voice._

DARK MAN:

Patience.

**388\. DREAM SEQUENCE**

_Through Dale's minds eye, we see a series of different scenes strung together, accompanied by a deep booming of feedback. As each scene transitions, the image momentarily fizzles with static..._

_ A large, golden statue of Buddha, and a group of Tibetan monks bowing before it._

_Judy Moon is standing in a dark field at night under the bright, full Moon. She is wearing sunglasses, which she removes. Her eyes are a bright emerald green, which begin glowing._

_Marches of protest in the streets by Tibetan monks, with Chinese soldiers raising their weapons to end the dissension._

_A Tibetan monk seated on a rug in the street lights himself on fire in protest._

_Josie Packard shakes with __fear__, moaning a heartbroken wail. She wraps her arms around Windom Earle, and the two cry out until they erupt into flames._

_The Dali Lama is fleeing from the Chinese militia._

_The Golden Cross is being held by a gloved hand. The Formica bead in it's head radiates green energy. The gloved hand waves it in front of a giant fire, somehow extinguishing the flames._

_A much younger Dale Cooper in his teenage years is standing in a Tibetan field. He holds a rock in his hands. To his left is a large chalkboard with a series of names written upon it. Judy Moon stands to the side, a piece of chalk in hand. Jonathan Moon is beside her, and he shouts out a name written on the board. An older Phillip Jeffries stands next to him, wearing oven mitts and carrying a bucket of rocks. Dale winds up and throws his stone as far as he can. It hits a bottle which is resting on a stump and shatters it. John Justice Wheeler, who is kneeling next to the stump, gives Dale a thumbs up._

_In the middle of the woods is a broken down car with rusty hinges and twisted metal. Out of the wreck, a Giant Horned Owl jumps into the air and flies towards us._

_In the Red Room, a __Capuchin __Monkey leans forward, staring into our soul. The strobe light effect goes off, turning it's brown fur white and blue in alternations. As it leans closer, the Monkey whispers a barely audible name..._

MONKEY:

Audrey...

**389\. INT. DALE'S OAKLAND APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_Dale is jolted back to reality, his heart palpitating and his thermal underwear drenched in sweat. He rockets out of bed, the hair on the left side of his head sticking up perfectly straight, and tries to make sense of his most recent string of visions. Dale shoots a glance at the alarm clock next to him, which reads "_6:07 am_". With an endorphin-releasing stretch, he stumbles out of bed, forfeiting any futile attempt at getting any more sleep before inevitably having to ready himself for work._

SUBTITLE:

Oakland, California

August 27, 1987

_Dale heads to his modest breakfast nook and flips a switch which activates his pot of coffee. The life-sustaining brown brew burbles to life and it's mouth-watering aroma slowly permeates the air of the apartment. Dale helps himself to a jelly-filled doughnut as he waits for the coffee to percolate. He leans into the fridge and pulls out a long, orange carrot._

_Dale pours himself a cup of deep, black Joe and heads back to his bed, careful not to spill from the open mug as he groggily teeters. Little Sirite is wiggling her nose favorably as her be__love__d master opens her cage and lifts her up onto the bed. The dainty rabbit gently nibbles away at the carrot as Dale pets her and drinks his coffee._

DALE:

Sirite? Are we ever going to find a place that feels like home?

_Sirite has no verbal answer for Dale, but she is there to encourage her master in spirit as fully as she has the capacity for. Dale rises, leaving the adorable bunny to finish her meal on the comfy mattress, and walks to the corner of the room where a metal bar has been installed towards the ceiling between two bannisters. Dale jumps up and pulls his body all the way to the roof, wrapping his legs around the bar and hanging upside down, forcing the blood to rush to his brain._

DALE:

Tibetan rock throwing... That's something I'll have to look into...

**390\. EXT. OAKLAND DEA HEADQUARTERS – DAY**

_The Oakland Headquarters for the Drug Enforcement Administration is a state of the art government building, which means that no expenses or technological efficiency were neglected when constructing the compound, yet no attention was bothered towards architectural aestheticism. The early morning summer Sun glistens off of it's bomb-proof glass._

**391\. INT. OAKLAND DEA HEADQUARTERS – DAY**

_A group of DEA Agents sit in their comfortable swivel chairs, clustered together in a corner of the office, exchanging stories and blithely bantering. Unlike FBI Agents, who are uniformed in black suits and ties, DEA Agents wear casual civilian clothes. Each of them, however, is strapped with a bulletproof vest on the outside of their shirt, even while mellowly hanging around the office._

_In the center of the clique, doing most of the talking, is Agent DENNIS BRYSON __**[David Duchovny]**__, a strikingly handsome man with a pronounced nose and a boyish smile contrasting with his strong jawline. His current anecdote is predominantly serving as a roast to Agent MAX SHELDRAKE __**[Sydney Lassick]**__, an older, balding Agent who takes the honorary ragging with an appreciative smile, nodding in agreement to the accusations. The other men all laugh and applaud at the appropriate moments._

DENNIS:  
I bet you guys didn't know this, but I stayed with Agent Sheldrake for a few weeks when I moved to Oakland. Let me tell you, there is a reason he still lives alone.

SHELDRAKE:  
Oh no, not this story again...

DENNIS:  
Get this. My man Max, here, has this elaborate security system set up. You know, one of those state of the art deals with alarms and flashing lights. Personally I don't know what he's so afraid of, but his house is protected like it's the Department of Defense.

SHELDRAKE:  
Hey, Oakland can be a rough city...

DENNIS:  
Not your neighborhood. Anyway, so I've been staying with Max about a week when I'm awoken in the middle of the night. It's three in the morning and the alarm is going off. Lights are flashing, the siren is blaring, it looks like the middle of a war zone. I get up and I see Max running out the front door of his house... naked as the day he was born. He was sleepwalking and tripped the alarm without knowing it.

_The room erupts in laughter, and Agent Sheldrake can only nod in honest admission._

SHELDRAKE:  
Hey, sleepwalking can be a dangerous thing.

DENNIS:  
Especially when you sleep in the nude. Needless to say, that was when I decided to check into a hotel.

_Dale is in the spacious kitchen nook at the back of the office, pouring himself a cup of the delicious DEA coffee supply. He is likewise dressed in civvies and a bulletproof vest, corresponding with the rest of his colleagues. Interestingly, though, Dale looks more uptight in these casual street clothes than he does in his staunch black suits. Dennis notices him from across the way and shouts._

DENNIS:  
There he is, everybody! Agent Dale Cooper has joined the party!

_Taking this cue, Dale approaches the group, curious as to the cause of their celebration._

DALE:  
Morning, Agent Bryson. You all seem to be in good spirits. What's the occasion?

DENNIS:  
Agent Sheldrake, here, busted that Colombian ring operating out of Bend, Oregon.

SHELDRAKE:  
Yeah, we took down the safe house, got ten arrests and seized over ten pounds.

_Dale extends his cup of coffee outwardly in a toasting gesture._

DALE:  
Congratulations to a successful bust!

SHELDRAKE:  
Thanks. We still don't know who the buyers were, though. No leads.

DALE:  
One step at a time. You'll get them.

DENNIS:  
Seriously, though, when did Vilca come back into style?

_The rest of the Agents mutter in agreement. Dale wanders over to the window and looks up into the clear, blue sky above, sipping loudly from his coffee. Dennis rambles curiously up behind him._

DENNIS:  
You look like something's on your mind, buddy.

_Dale stirs internally and utters cryptically as his eyes search for something far beyond the horizon..._

DALE:  
A Tibetan deductive technique came to me in a dream last night.

_Dennis exhales in deadpan commentary._

DENNIS:  
Hoo. You really have a knack for getting people's attention, did you know that?

_Dale turns away from the window to face Dennis._

DALE:  
Do you have an appointment this afternoon? Would you like to help me try it out?

DENNIS:  
What all does it entail? Can't we just try it out here on our lunch break?

DALE:  
No, no. We need to be out in the forest.

DENNIS:  
The forest, huh? Alright. I'll bite. And, what mystery are we solving?

_Dale looks upward in grandeur._

DALE:  
That single enigma which has successfully eluded modern detective methods for the past two decades...

**392\. EXT. OAKLAND FOREST CLEARING – DAY**

_We are in a small forest clearing on the outskirts of Oakland. The bright Californian Sunlight is almost entirely obstructed by the towering Redwoods. Dale Cooper has erected a large chalkboard up against a pair of trees, a single stone gripped tightly in his hand._

_On the board are written the names: "_Marilyn Monroe, Bernard Weissman, Lee Harvey Oswald, E. Howard Hunt, Jack Ruby, Fidel Castro, J. Edgar Hoover, J.D. Tippit, Lyndon Johnson_". A short woman with a rat's nest of curly brown hair is poised by the board, chalk in hand. Dennis Bryson waits beside her, adorned with oven mitts which he uses to hold up a metal bucket of rocks. He is also, unnecessarily, decked out in an effeminate, pink lady's cooking apron._

DALE:

You know, Dennis... I only said you needed the kitchen mittens.

_Dennis sheepishly swats his hand._

DENNIS:

Yeah, but, this was laying right there, so I thought, "what the heck", I'd just throw it on. Whattaya think?

DALE:

Very fetching. Now, please read each name aloud and then briefly state their relationship to Mr. Kennedy.

_Dennis clears his throat and enunciates the first name on the list loudly and clearly._

DENNIS:

Marilyn Monroe! Secret lover!

DALE:

Marilyn Monroe!

_Dale winds back and hurls the rock, but it pitifully misses it's intended target by several yards and lodges itself in dirt. Agent Max Sheldrake is standing over by a stump, glaring at the empty beer bottle sitting atop it, yawning from boredom. Dale bites on his lower lip, his confidence rapidly dwindling._

**393\. INT. DALE'S OAKLAND APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_Dale is sitting on his bed, snugly garbed in his bright red thermal underwear. He summarizes into his tape recorder while he strokes Sirite, who rests in his lap._

DALE:

According to the results of my first substantial test of the Tibetan Deductive Method, Lee Harvey Oswald did not act alone on that fateful day in Dallas, and Jack Rudy is still alive and living in Peru... This may need some work, yet.

**394\. EXT. SEATTLE – NIGHT**

_The beautiful city of Seattle sits nestled between rolling hills and the crisp, salty ocean, blanketed under a thick canopy of gray storm clouds. The lights of the night are blurred by the steady veil of ceaseless rainfall._

**395\. EXT. AMTRAK TRAIN STATION – NIGHT**

_On this miserable night, the Amtrak station tests it's limits just to remain standing. The old Oak creeks and shifts from the bitter, blustery wind. The torrential downpour has darkened every inch of the wooden building's color and a small pond has collected at the nadir of the walkway's inclination. The sign which lists ticket prices and destinations swings back and forth, the metal chains which hold it elevated threatening to snap at any moment._

_A man and a woman are struggling to make their way towards the ticket booth, their bodies rocking back and forth in the wretched, wet wind. They both wear ponchos pulled up high over their heads, slick and dripping from the heavy rain. Once they finally reach a dry haven offered by the overhang of building's slanted roof, they pull back their hoods. The man is Special Agent Phillip Jeffries, and the woman accompanying him is Judy Moon._

JEFFRIES:

Alright, now... is there anything I've forgotten?

_Phillip pats his pockets to check that everything is in place. He freezes up momentarily as he remembers something. Judy's heart stops, __fear__ing the worst._

JEFFRIES:

I forgot my toothbrush.

_Judy smiles at the inconsequential oversight, giving Phillip a __lovi__ng slap on the arm. Her smile promptly fades when she acknowledges the severe finality this evening represents. Judy opens her satchel and pulls out a fastidiously cataloged binder, reassuring Phillip as to it's organization._

JUDY:

I have every errand and meeting arranged in chronological order. Each paper is numbered in case they were to be mixed up, and the numbers are labelled on calendars for the next seven years. There's no way I'll be late for anything.

_Phillip nods uneasily, the contents of his stomach churning wildly. Judy exhibits a small wooden box which fits in her palm. She opens it with a squeak. Inside is the Wooden Ring, carefully sanded and polished. It is carved from Sycamore. Her thin, manicured fingers lift up the Wooden Ring and gingerly fit it onto Phillip's digit. After the ring is snugly in place, the couple lock their hands together._

JUDY:

Don't let it slip off your fingers... If you get caught –

JEFFRIES:

I know how it works. I'm ready for this.

_Phillip adds this reassurance for his own benefit as much as hers. Judy and Jeffries both face the Amtrak station as if the ticket booth were his execution chair. Judy's mesmerizing green eyes plead with Jeffries'._

JUDY:

Is there _anything_ I can say to talk you out of this?

_Phillip's own polychromatic gray and blue eyes stare back into hers, penetrating with nonnegotiable conviction._

JEFFRIES:

If there ever was... then we never would have met in the first place, would we?

_Judy looks down at the wet wooden walkway in futile despondency._

JUDY:

… Why did it have to be us?

_Phillip offers nothing but steadfast conviction._

JEFFRIES:

Because it had to be someone.

JUDY:

I just wish there was another way... some way we could be spared this thankless life of sacrifice... A chance out...

JEFFRIES:

Wishing doesn't change anything. Nothing can ever change, you know that. Everything must proceed cyclically.

_Judy scowls at his defeatism._

JUDY:

You believe in destiny that much? To throw away your life?

_Phillip sighs almost in indignation._

JEFFRIES:

I believe in doing whatever it takes to make sure that we'll be together... in this life _and_ the next.

_Judy hopelessly turns away, gently crying as the reality of her impending loss sinks in. Jeffries squeezes her hands tightly._

JEFFRIES:

But, as certain and constant as our fates may be... so is my love for you.

_Judy turns back to Phillip, allowing herself to believe him._

JUDY:

Oh, Phillip, I love you so much.

_The two share their farewell kiss in the frigid, whipping rain._

JEFFRIES:

Goodbye, Judy. See you in another place, another time.

_Their hands are locked together as Phillip backs away towards the station. They continue grasping tightly until the last possible moment as their arms grow taut and break away. Phillip turns to the ticket seller window._

JEFFRIES:

One adult to Bend, Oregon. No return.

_Judy Moon remains in the lashing rain, watching as the man she's __love__d for decades__ leaves on an insane and dangerous journey. She is left alone, frightened, and utterly resentful of her role in life. We pull back from the station, which blurs into a haze as rainfall consumes the frame..._

**396\. INT. TIERNEY HOUSE, VERA'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_We pull back from a pane of window glass, dripping with the frosty rainfall, which streaks in random patterns. In the obscured sky beyond we can see that the Moon is out in full. As we pull back further, we are in the bedroom of a young girl. The occupant's age and gender are evidenced by the kitties and flowers decorating the wallpaper, and the stuffed animals inhabiting every corner._

_VERA TIERNEY, a __love__ly little girl with curly brown hair and freckles, is lying on her bed. Her tiny body is surrounded by plush animals, and her neck is supported by a thick stack of pillows. At the moment, her innocence has been stolen from her once again. Her face is bruised and battered and her pajamas torn and tattered. She holds herself between her legs, hoping that the pain will soon fade away..._

_Vera hears the sliding pane and looks over to see a familiar man leaving out through the window that he's entered through so many times before. She lays back on her comforter, quietly sniveling in shame, guilt, anger and hopelessness. She rolls over on her side and prepares to cry herself to sleep once again..._

_On the bedside table beside her is a snowglobe. It rests at eye level, and the little girl's vacant stare inside the glassy dome seems to almost transport her entire psyche within. At it's center is a Sycamore tree with a small bird perched on the top branch. Flaky bits of confetti styled after snowflakes are swirling around in a tempest of glitter._

_As Vera loses herself in the world within the whirlwind of confetti, something seems to give her comfort. The pain between her legs lessons and she feels her body relax. Much to her surprise, she finds that the bird is gone and has been replaced by a WHITE ANGEL. The winged woman looks up at the girl with nothing but unconditional compassion and __love__, her knowing gaze vindicating Vera of every lingering trace of guilt. Something in the Angel's face tells her that everything will be okay. Vera closes her eyes and smiles._

_There is an abrupt white flash, and she bolts upright._

VERA:

No... It cant be...

_Vera puts her hand over her mouth, not wanting to believe what she senses._

VERA:

It's him... I can see his face...

_The little girl bolts out of bed, putting on her white kitty slippers and stopping to take the snowglobe before she dashes out of the house. After she heads downstairs, we pull back to the window and see her running down the street, her shrinking form blurring through the trickles of rain..._

**397\. EXT. DESMOND HOUSE – NIGHT**

_The 1950's era house is modestly sized, but it succeeds in feeling quaint and inviting. Through the heavy rainfall outside, little Vera Tierney has run a great distance in her little kitty slippers and skids as she approaches the front porch. Panting and shaking from the cold, she raps the door knocker._

_After a few moments, the outside lights turn on and Special Agent CHESTER DESMOND __**[Chris Isaak]**__ opens the door, dressed only in a robe. His hair, still full of gooey product when he had laid down for bed, is sticking up straight on it's side. He is immediately concerned by the little girl's unexpected presence._

DESMOND:

Vera?! What are you doing here?

_As Vera answers through cold-induced shudders, bits of rain spit out from between her lips._

VERA:

Can I come in, uncle Chester?

DESMOND:

Of course, sweetie, of course! Here, let's get you out of the rain!

_As Desmond ushers her in, he inquires further._

DESMOND:

Did you walk all the way here?!

**398\. INT. DESMOND HOUSE – NIGHT**

_It is several minutes later, and the only sound in the house is the ticking of a clock. Vera sits on the sofa, her body wrapped in blankets. She warms her hands around a hot cup of freshly prepared cocoa, a half-dozen miniature marshmallows bobbing along the surface._

_The girl has just confessed something quite heinous, and she sits in anxious silence, awaiting a response. Desmond is knelt on the floor directly at her eye-level, frozen in stark horror, offense, and rapidly surfacing rage. In his trembling hands is another cup of hot cocoa, marshmallow-free. He is employing every ounce of discipline in his arsenal to remain calm and civil, for the sake of his distressed niece. After several beats of painful silence, Desmond speaks._

DESMOND:

… How many times?

VERA:

I can't remember. But... it feels like more than ten.

_Desmond calmly nods._

DESMOND:

… More then ten... Alright.

_Desmond allows himself to release a single savage scream as he propels his cup of cocoa clear across the room. It shatters against the mantle, the hot liquid splashing out onto the carpet. Both of their eyes remain locked on the broken china, neither daring to say a word. Desmond stands perfectly still, rubbing his hand over the front of his mouth and taking deep, soothing breaths._

DESMOND:

I'll clean that up, later. I've got that stuff... Stain Away. Did you want anymore cocoa, sweetheart?

VERA:

No, thank you. My cup is still full.

DESMOND:

… Why didn't you tell me sooner?

VERA:

Because... I thought maybe it wasn't real. I thought maybe it was all in my head. Until tonight... when the Angel showed me his face.

DESMOND:

What Angel?

VERA:

The one in my snowglobe.

DESMOND:

Show me your snowglobe.

_Vera hands Desmond the snowglobe. Desmond holds it up to the light and examines the porcelain world within. He sees the Sycamore tree in the center of the clearing and the bird perched atop it. Suddenly, all the lights of the house flicker and dim, then glow brightly. Buried somewhere in the static Electrical hum is a faint Native American whooping sound. Desmond feels a strange, intuitive sensation, goosebumps prickling along his skin._

DESMOND:

Who gave you this?

VERA:

An old lady and her grandson.

DESMOND:

What was her name?

VERA:

Mrs. Dubois.

_Desmond places the snowglobe on the table beside him and crouches back to his knees. He places both his hands on Vera's shoulders looks her in the eyes and issues a solemn vow._

DESMOND:

Listen to me, sweetie. I am gonna take care of this. Your daddy is never going to hurt you again, you understand?

_The little girl nods and snivels in gratitude._

VERA:

Thank you, uncle Chester.

**399\. EXT. TIERNEY HOUSE – DAY**

_The Sun is beaming on this generously gorgeous day, a welcome departure from the stormy weather of the previous night. A garage sale is being held at the Tierney house, with boxes of worthless knick-knacks and doo-dads lined up along foldaway tables. A half-dozen elderly folks from the neighborhood, with nothing better to do with their lives, peruse through the junk._

_ANDREW TIERNEY __**[Michael Massee]**__ is resting lazily on a lawn chair as a Federal issue car pulls up along the side of the street and parks. The driver's door opens and Special Agent Chester Desmond steps out, dressed in his black suit and tie. His teeth grit as he crosses the street, a vengeful thirst needing to be quenched. Andrew rises leisurely from his seat and cheerily waves to him._

ANDREW:

Howdy-doo, Ches. What brings you my way? Say, have you seen Vera this mor–

_Desmond slugs Andrew in the side of the face so hard that he is sent spiraling backwards into a stack of crates which topple over, their contents breaking and rolling out along the pavement. The crowd of gawkers gasp in astonishment. Without bothering to look any of them in the eye, Desmond instinctively flashes them his FBI ID as he proceeds forward._

_Before Andrew has recovered, Desmond picks him up with both hands and lifts him high up into the air, bringing him back down onto one of the tables, shattering it to the ground. Desmond leans down over Andrew and pulls him up by his collar, only to mercilessly pummel his face with the raw power of his bare fists._

DESMOND:

DID YOU HURT VERA!? DID YOU HURT HER!?

_Andrew splutters through his bloody, swollen lips._

ANDREW:

I don't know what you're talking about...

DESMOND:

SHE SAID IT WAS YOU! DID YOU HURT HER!?

_Andrew puts his hands up in a pitiful attempt at peace. Desmond momentarily halts his ballistic distribution of abuse._

ANDREW:

They made me... I had no choice... I love Vera, but... They made me...

DESMOND:

Who made you!?

ANDREW:

The voices in my head...

_Desmond snarls his lips in an embittered rage. He wields his gun and thrusts the barrel into Andrew's mouth. After a few seconds of his brother-in-law choking on the armed weapon, Desmond pulls the Glock out and re-holsters it, pulling Andrew up from the dirty cement. He takes out his handcuffs and clasps them around Andrew's wrists._

DESMOND:

The only reason you aren't a soggy smear on this stretch of pavement right now is because I swore an oath to uphold the law. But, God help me, Andrew... I'm gonna make sure that they put you away somewhere full of people that will finish the job for me.

_Desmond drags Andrew away, giving no notice to the stunned faces of the elderly crowd._

**400\. INT. OAKLAND DEA HEADQUARTERS – DAY**

_At the center of the spacious DEA office is a meeting area, loosely designated without any walls or cordoning. The entire staff of the Oakland branch fill the floor in their comfortable swivel chairs, dressed in their civvies and vests. Dale Cooper and Dennis Bryson sit side-by-side._

_Gracing the head wall is an immense American flag, and a podium is mounted before it. Rather than stand behind the podium and address his men from there, Regional Director DUSTIN MILLE __**[Richard Dysart]**__ sits on it's top, hands folded in his lap and one leg hung over the edge. The aged man speaks with eloquent diction and commands a high intelligence, but chooses to address the assembled DEA Agents with a casualty and mutual respect which succeeds in making him easier to relate to._

MILLE:

At 7:00 AM this morning, Mexican authorities alerted the DEA offices to an extremely large shipment of cocain being moved to the border town of Tijuana. With the full cooperation of the Mexican Federal Police, we will act as the buyers of the shipment. This is a big opportunity for us on two accounts.

_Director Mille sticks two fingers in the air to act as a visual aide._

MILLE:

Naturally, it will prove to be a sizable bust for the Agents responsible, but more importantly, it will serve as an opportunity to inspire future cooperation from the Mexican authorities, something which we've struggled with in the past. There is a lot of pressure here, but a successful mission will be met with great rewards. It will be a two man operation.

_The Agents look around the room nervously, anxious to reap those rewards, but __fear__ful of failure. Mille points to Agent Bryson and tosses him a lengthy file folder._

MILLE:

Dennis, you seem the obvious candidate, since you've handled this kind of mission before. And, we could use someone with prior experience to review procedures with Agent Cooper.

_It slowly dawns on Dale what has just been said. He is caught off-guard by the honor of being chosen._

DALE:

Me, Director Mille? Are you sure?

_Mille passively shrugs his shoulders._

MILLE:

It's my understanding that you've had prior experience working undercover.

_Dale answers, hesitantly._

DALE:

Yes... I once apprehended a serial murderer by posing as one of his potential victims. But –

MILLE:

Then, this operation should be right up your alley. An impressive first assignment will earn you some accolades, Dale.

DALE:

Thank you, sir.

_Dennis looks up from the folder he's already been reviewing._

DENNIS:

Who will we be posing as?

MILLE:

A pair of insurance salesmen from the Midwest.

_Dennis leans over to Dale, grinning confidently._

DENNIS:

I've had some theater experience. This should be fun!

MILLE:

You'll fly into San Diego tonight, where you'll be issued a vehicle. You'll head to the border first thing in the morning.

_In jest, Dennis holds out his hands effeminately and gives a fay flutter of his eyelashes._

DENNIS:

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. D. Mille!

**401\. EXT. SKY – NIGHT**

_High above the clouds, a commercial airplane is soaring through the heavens. The massive metal structure glides effortlessly on invisible air currents, it's immense weight not remotely compromising it's ability to remain airborne. Deep out in space behind the aircraft floats the Moon, barely a sliver at this time of the month and threatening to disappear entirely in the next few days._

**402\. INT. AIRPLANE – NIGHT**

_Seated in the cramped isles are DEA Agents Dale Cooper and Dennis Bryson. Dale squirms about in his seat, evidently discomforted by flying. Dennis, an old hand at this game, is leaning back with his head supported by a pillow. His voice raises an octave in surprise at Dale's weakness._

DENNIS:

Well, look at you. I wouldn't have thought Dale Cooper would be so unnerved by having his feet above the ground.

DALE:

I'm afraid I've never managed to find my flying wings.

DENNIS:

Don't you practice Eastern meditation? Can't you breathe in and out a certain way and reach Nirvana, or something?

DALE:

Believe me, I'm trying.

_Dale inhales and exhales in coordinated alternations, but he cannot suppress the quivering which runs up and down his spine. A stewardess is wheeling a large cart of mid-flight refreshments down the isle. Dennis nudges Dale._

DENNIS:

Would you care for a cup of Joe? Might level you out.

DALE:

No, thank you. In my experience, airline coffee is only incrementally superior to consuming bleach.

DENNIS:

Oh, no, no. Perish the thought. I packed a thermos.

_Dennis leans forward and reaches into his bag, pulling out a thick, gray, heavy-duty porcelain thermos. With a twist of it's top, the still-steaming black liquid inside wafts it's enticing aroma into Dale's olfactory range._

DENNIS:

My favorite blend... Blue Mountain.

_Dennis accentuates the "ooo" vowel when pronouncing "Blue" as he covets his treasured brew._

DALE:

Dennis... your forward thinking is an inspiration. I always fail to consider thermoses.

_Dennis gestures towards the stewardess as she wheels past._

DENNIS:

Could we get two empty cups, please? Thanks, sweetheart.

_The stewardess hands them two empty Styrofoam cups, which Dennis promptly fills to the brim with his secret stash of percolated perfection._

DENNIS:

Here. Get some of this down. Incredible stuff.

_Both men knock back their favorite habit, relishing the palatal experience._

DENNIS:

Oh, sweet God.

DALE:

Damn, that's good coffee.

DENNIS:

Can you imagine how miserable flying would be if we couldn't bring our own drinks on board?

**403\. EXT. THE COLONEL'S CAR RENTAL – NIGHT**

_Cars are backed up for miles on the Southern Californian byway in a massive traffic jam. The vehicles have come to a dead stop, and there is little hope that the drivers will ever see their __love__d ones again. A soundscape of blaring hooter honking pollutes the air, peppered with the occasional expletive shouted in alternating English and Spanish._

_Just to the side of the condensed byway is an isolated corner of San Diego with comparatively empty streets. The surrounding blocks mostly consist of pawn shops, porno rentals and by-the-hour motels. Dale and Dennis are traveling this route on foot, scouring for their intended destination. Dale is looking over a handful of brochures which he had collected at the airport, speaking as they walk._

DALE:

This place is called the... "Motel Seven". Looks promising. They guarantee a good rate for the business traveler...

DENNIS:

That's what they all guarantee, isn't it?

DALE

How do you mean?

DENNIS:

I've worked these out-of-state gigs quite a bit, and I've picked up on the game they play.

DALE:

I wonder if we can talk them down on some of the unnecessary commodities and get a better rate. Because, sometimes these motels throw in a number of add-ons just to increase the cost that, frankly, I could do without –

DENNIS:

Couldn't agree more. Here we are.

_Dale looks up from his pamphlets and notices the rundown car rental's before him. The sign above the entrance reads "_The Colonel's_" and depicts an old Southern gentlemen wiping the black grease off of his white dueling gloves. The two Agents enter the shabby garage with trepidation. Glancing around at the vehicles on hand, they don't see anything which they would be happy being issued. The cement arena seems to be devoid of human life._ _ The eerie voice of Billy Holiday singing "Strange Fruit" fills the echoic garage, played from a dilapidated, hissing phonograph._

DENNIS:

Hello?

_A muffled shout is heard from underneath a Buick off to the left. A grease and oil stained MECHANIC __**[William Sanderson]**__ is laying face-up on a creeper pushed underneath the auto. Realizing that he is no longer alone, the scrawny man uses his heels to pull the creeper out and then pushes himself to a standing position. He cryptically addresses the two customers as he approaches them, ineffectually wiping his hands on an equally grease-soaked rag._

MECHANIC:

Good evening, gentlemen. We thinking about cruising down Mexico way?

_The mechanic's creepily monotone voice is buried in a thick, meandering Tennessee drawl. His eyelids droop low and his mouth gapes open, giving his large-eared face a numb stupor. Every word he utters sounds as if it's stifling a yawn._

DALE:

That's right. We're the Milwaukee boys.

MECHANIC:

Yeah. Sure you are. Walk this way.

_The mechanic slowly trots over to their rental vehicle, nursing a leg wound. He taps the hood of a black 1984 Chevrolet Malibu with "_Wisconsin_" license plates. The plain car is not particularly exciting and looks a little rough around the edges._

MECHANIC:

This be her.

_He walks the perimeter of the vehicle as he gives them a run-down, wiping the slick coat of black oil which covers his hands onto his coveralls._

MECHANIC:

She's got some miles on her and the brakes are a little stiff, but she should do nicely. Just don't gun her too harshly. She's sprung a leak once or twice, but I've patched her up for ya. The breaks should hold out so long as ya go easy on them.

DENNIS:

Should?

MECHANIC:

'S right. Should. I ain't Nostradamus. Can't predict yer future. I can only promise that I've patched her up for ya.

_The mechanic opens the trunk and reaches for something inside._

MECHANIC:

And, should those Goddamn Federales give you any beef...

_Fanned in his hands are six replacement license plates._

MECHANIC:

This'll just be our little secret, comprende? No need to squeal me out to your seniors. Quite a few a' you narcs have made it back in one piece on account a' my getaway plates.

DALE:

Mum's the word.

_The mechanic checks off a tally on his clipboard and tosses a ring of keys to Agent Bryson._

MECHANIC:

Righto. She needs gas. Any other questions?

_Both Agents sigh._

DENNIS:

Yeah. Why do the lawmen in the movies get to drive all the cool cars?

_The mechanic smiles, his wrinkly face not accustomed to the gesture._

MECHANIC:

I reckon it's 'cos they have better funding than you do.

**404\. EXT. MOTEL SEVEN – NIGHT**

_The Malibu is in the parking lot of the Motel Seven. The price-conscious lodgings seem to be shooting for the absolute bare minimum in luxuries needed in order to attract any customers. Night has just fallen, and directly up the stairwell from the parking space is the two DEA Agents' shared room._

**405\. INT. MOTEL SEVEN, AGENTS' ROOM – NIGHT**

_The sparse motel room consists only of two rock-hard beds and a meager table with an accompanying lamp. Dale walks out of the miniscule bathroom wearing only a towel around his waist, drying off his freshly showered face. Dennis is sitting on the bed, still dressed._

DENNIS:

How's the water?

_Dale twists his finger in his ear, shaking out compacted liquid._

DALE:

Cold and concernedly salty.

DENNIS:

You tired?

DALE:

Not particularly. Why?

DENNIS:

Now, it's your call, Dale, but I've done this before, and I can never get any sleep the night before...

_Dale's left eyebrow raises, intrigued._

DALE:

What do you suggest?

_Dennis flashes a convincing smile as he pitches his proposition._

DENNIS:

We cruise the desert highways and find a place of local color to spend the evening, then get an early start in the morning?

DALE:

I'll admit that I do feel pretty wired. Alright, if you think it's the wisest course, I'm game.

DENNIS:

The wisest course isn't always the most beneficial.

**406\. EXT. LONELY HIGHWAY, DEA VEHICLE – NIGHT**

_Dennis and Dale are cruising down the dark highway. The lane divider shines bright yellow as it is spotlighted by the Malibu's twin cones. On either side of the lonely road is nothing but empty expanses of burnt grass. Dennis glances at the gauge with frustration._

DENNIS:

Jeeze! That mechanic wasn't kidding about the gas. We're running on fumes.

_Dale points towards the green sign incoming on the left-hand side of the highway._

DALE:

There's a station off this exit.

_Dennis delicately pats down on the brakes as softly as he can as he prepares to merge, instantaneously prompting a thunderous eruption from somewhere underneath the hood. The car swerves back and forth as smoke billows out._

DENNIS:

And, there go our brakes...

**407\. EXT. LONELY EXPRESSWAY EXIT – NIGHT**

_Miraculously still in one piece, the shaky Malibu manages to pull off of the expressway and rolls out onto a particularly dilapidated and destitute exit. The only man-made structures are a rusty petrol station with a single light and a sign creatively titled "_GAS_", and an unscrupulous bar off to the left. The Agents pull up to the station and park next to the nearest pump._

_Moths flutter about the gas station's only light, their shadows elongating across the pavement. The petrol tanks are rusty and coated with crusted dirt. A thoroughly inbred GAS STATION ATTENDANT sits on a chair with one foot up on the nearest pump and a hat lowered over his eyes as he enjoys an on-duty snooze. Most of his jaw has been extracted, a sacrifice to cancer, but he uses what little remains to chew his spitting tobacco. As the two Agents exit their vehicle, he looks at them with irritation, as if they are an unwelcome intrusion rather than potentially paying customers._

_Dale unscrews the gas nozzle from it's tank and begins pumping the petroleum into the car. Dennis lifts the hood to inspect the master cylinder reservoir and assess the damage. He waves away the steam, a sour look on his face as he notices the fluid leaking onto the ground._

DENNIS:

We've got a leak, alright...

_Dennis calls towards the attendant._

DENNIS:

Excuse me! Do you have any brake fluid?

GAS STATION ATTENDANT:

Brake _fluid_?

_The man, who's life revolves around cars, asks the question as if he's never heard the two words associated before. He also expectorates a thick, viscous dollop of tar-black saliva which splatters against the cement. Dennis turns towards Dale._

DENNIS:

Okay, then. We may have to call for assistance in the morning.

_Dennis shouts back to the attendant._

DENNIS:

Do you have a phone we can use!?

GAS STATION ATTENDANT:

Ain't got no phone!

DENNIS:

Of course you don't... Is it alright if we leave this here for the night!?

_The attendant only mutters an ornery "ahhh..." and lowers his hat over his face, returning to his nap. Dennis' eyes wander over to the neighboring bar with interest. The windowless building is of vaguely Hispanic architecture and painted in dark green. A sign above the door reads "_The Black Pony_" with an accompanying doodle of a miniature horse in white outline on black background. Although the two can't see inside, they can hear loud mambo music leaking out into the night air. There are a smattering of automobiles in the parking lot._

DENNIS:

What do you think? Feeling courageous?

DALE:

You lead and I follow, Dennis.

_The DEA Agents walk towards the front door, stopping when they notice an antique car carefully parked sideways along two spaces. It is a Ford Mustang._

DENNIS:

Now, that's a nice pony car. Why can't Federal Agents drive around in rides like this?

_As Dennis prepares to continue on, satisfied with his off-hand comment, Dale grips him by the arm, restraining him as he recognizes the relevance of this particular make of automobile._

DALE:

They do... My God, Dennis... this is a silver 1967 Ford Mustang convertible. Do you realize who drove this!?

_Both Agents come to the same conclusion and exclaim in unison._

DALE / DENNIS:

Efrem Zimbalist!

_They laugh together at their mutual recognition._

DENNIS:

You're right! Damn. I watched him every week when I was a kid. He made me want to become an Agent.

_Dale beams in exuberance._

DALE:

Me, too! I've got an autographed glossy of him hanging over my bed!

DENNIS:

You're kidding me!

_The two men continue laughing as they head inside._

**408\. INT. THE BLACK PONY – NIGHT**

_Distilled lighting gleams through the thick smog inside the Black Pony. A duo of wavering ceiling fans fail miserably in their duties to circulate the smokey air. Even in the middle of the night, this secluded dive in the middle of nowhere is somehow crowded with a diverse clientele. The sound-system is blasting the extended cut of "Move On Up" by Curtis Mayfield, competing for dominance over the roaring chatter. An imposing Mexican barman grumbles sourly from his place behind the bar, his battle-scarred face the texture of well-worn leather._

_Dale and Dennis stroll up to the bar, bidding to pass as nonchalant, despite feeling hopelessly out of place in this curious locale. They seat themselves upon the only empty stools remaining, graciously situated together at the far-right end of the bar. Dennis squints his eyes at the labels of well-drinks on hand._

DENNIS:

What's your drink? It's on me.

DALE:

Thank you very much, Dennis. I've got to say, I'm not a very experienced drinker. What would you recommend?

_Dennis gives it a thought._

DENNIS:

You ever try a Margarita?

DALE:

Nope.

_Dennis shouts for the attention of the bartender._

DENNIS:

Yo, Amigo! Dos Margaritas!

_The bartender sends them both a dirty scowl and mixes their drinks without a word._

DENNIS:

Gracias. How much?

_Rather than answer, the bartender gestures the amount with his fingers and growls. Instead of handing the money to him civilly, Dennis matches his politeness and tosses a crumpled wad of currency in the disagreeable barman's direction._

_Dale is intimidated by the quantity of green alcohol which rests before him, but is nevertheless determined to subdue it. On Dennis' cue, both men tilt their heads back and consume a generous helping of their drinks. Dale coughs and pounds his chest. Dennis licks his lips and curiously eyes his partner._

DENNIS:

So, what's your secret, Coop?

DALE:

Sorry?

DENNIS:

C'mon... Ever since I've met you, you've been as squeaky clean as a Boy Scout.

DALE:

Eagle Scout.

DENNIS:

You don't drink, you don't smoke, I've never seen you with a girl... or a guy, for that matter. There's no way you're really the Jimmy Stewart you come across as. There's gotta be some dirt in your dungeon. So... what are your secrets?

_Dale shakes his head with firm conviction._

DALE:

I have no secrets.

DENNIS:

I don't believe it.

DALE:

Secrets are hungry truths yearning to be released. You keep them locked away long enough, and they'll eat you alive from the inside. I have my own share of personal vices, but I'll readily admit to them when questioned.

DENNIS:

For instance?

_Dale takes a sip from his drink and smirks as he considers his personal weakness._

DALE:

I like to gamble.

DENNIS:

Oh, yeah? Now we're talking. What's your game?

DALE:

Blackjack.

DENNIS:

You any good?

DALE:

I'm a card counter. I can't lose.

DENNIS:

Well, look at you. You're just full of surprises. Where did a straight arrow such as yourself acquire such a dishonest ability?

DALE:

My uncle Al, the magician and card-shark. He went by the stage name of "Alexander Alakazam". He wasn't a very good magician. But, he taught me Blackjack, and how to count cards.

DENNIS:

Is that so? What happened to him? He make it rich?

DALE:

Hardly. He was killed by the Mafia. He wasn't a very good card-shark, either.

_Dennis laughs at the morbid anecdote, taking another hit from his Margarita._

DENNIS:

You really are something, Coop.

_Dennis' attention is drawn to the couple leaning against the bar to their immediate left. He points a finger._

DENNIS:

Who's the cowboy?

_The cowboy in question is JOHN "JACK" JUSTICE WHEELER __**[Billy Zane]**__. He is decked out in a ten-gallon hat, roach-stomper boots, flannel shirt, kerchief tied around his neck, and even a lasso fastened at his waist. He is entertaining DAHLIA __**[Isabella Rossellini]**__, a dazzlingly beautiful European woman with thick, florid lips and sultry, demanding eyes. Her messy bushel of hair is bright red and ludicrously artificial, obviously clashing with her piliferous brown eyebrows. As she laughs from Jack's flattering attention, she flashes an interested glance towards Dale._

JACK:

What, you don't believe me? You're really going to make me prove myself, aren't you?

DAHLIA:

I believe nothing a man tells me. You must show with your body, not your words, to earn my approval.

JACK:

Well, alrighty, then...

_With a benign sigh, Jack steps into a vacant area of the floor, scooting tables and chairs back as he does so. Dale and Dennis keenly observe the public spectacle, instantly drawn to Jack's "from the Prairie" charm. Jack pulls out his lasso, ties it off, and begins spinning it around in a loop, emulating a perfect circle. He maintains his momentum and slowly widens the circumference of his suspended rope halo. The onlookers in the bar enjoy the performance, egging him on. Dahlia, especially, is smiling giddily._

_Jack proceeds to step through the circle and onto the other side, still keeping his rope spinning. He jumps back and forth through his lasso several times at a rapid pace, and the audience applauds his talent. He modestly chuckles as he hops back and forth, goofily groving his head to the music. Finishing his performance, he ties his lasso back around his waist, and then moves to out his female companion's lack of faith to the gathered crowd._

JACK:

Listen to this lady! Just because I'm businessman, she assumes I don't know how to spin a lasso!

_Attention momentarily directed toward Dahlia, she responds, her alcohol absorption negating any nervousness._

DAHLIA:

My sincerest apologies! I shall never make another assumption so long as I live!

_Jack returns to the bar, raising his shot glass up into the air._

JACK:

Now, that's somethin' I'll drink to! Here's to a life without assumptions!

_Dahlia joins him in the toast. The two petite glasses clink together and they down their shots. As he heartily exhales from the fiery liquor, Jack notices the two Agents enjoying them and tips his hat._

JACK:

Howdy! How are you two fellas doing tonight?!

DALE:

Oh, we're doing alright!

DENNIS:

Those were some nice moves, there, pardner!

_Jack refills his glass from a bottle of Tennessee whiskey, momentarily excuses himself with a gentle nudge on Dahlia's shoulder, and joins them._

JACK:

Always nice to have an appreciative audience. John Justice Wheeler. Call me "Jack".

_Jack shakes hands with both Agents._

DENNIS:

Dennis Bryson.

DALE:

Dale Cooper.

_The three men clink glasses and take a drink._

JACK:

You boys on the road?

DALE:

Yes, we are.

JACK:

Me, too. Where are you headed?

DENNIS:

Tijuana.

_Jack tilts his head back, fondly._

JACK:

Love Mexico. Beautiful country. Business or pleasure?

DENNIS:

Strictly business, unfortunately.

JACK:

Well... you may just be better off that way.

DALE:

How about yourself?

JACK:

This is my last night, Stateside. Headed home to Brazil, tomorrow.

DENNIS:

What do you do, Jack?

_Jack sighs and candidly dismisses that particular avenue of small talk._

JACK:

Look... honestly... I didn't come here to talk shop. I came here to forget the office, enjoy under-priced spirits, and engage with strangers who will remain strangers even after this night has passed. How does that sound to y'all?

DALE:

Sounds aces, Jack!

DENNIS:

You said it, Jack!

_The men all take another hit of their drinks, when Dale snaps his fingers abruptly and points at Jack._

DALE:

That's your pony car parked out front, isn't it?

JACK:

Sure is. How'd you know?

DALE:

A hunch.

JACK:

You interested in cars?

_Dale and Dennis nod knowingly to each other._

DALE:

That's the same model that was driven by a childhood hero of ours.

JACK:

Oh, yeah? And, who was that?

DENNIS:

Efrem Zimbalist.

_Jack purses his lips in a shrug of unknowing._

JACK:

I'll look him up. Always like to know who drove my cars. I've also got Steve McQueen's green fastback from "Bullitt". Great flick. Great car.

_The three men nod their heads in agreement._

JACK:

So, what are you driving?

DENNIS:

Just a Chevy Malibu. Nothing fancy. As a matter of fact, we're stranded at the moment.

JACK:

What's the damage?

DENNIS:

Sprung a leak. Fresh out of brake fluid.

JACK:

Yeah? I got an extra bottle in my trunk. You're welcome to it.

_The two DEA Agents are taken aback by Jack's generosity._

DALE:

That would be awfully good of you.

JACK:

No problem, fellas. I can help you with that patch job, too.

DENNIS:

You're an okay guy, yaknow that?

JACK:

Us "on the road" types have gotta look out for each other, right?

_A third and final cheers, and all three men finish their glasses. Jack returns to Dahlia and whispers something into her ear. He then returns, putting on his stylish brown leather jacket._

JACK:

Okay, you and me, Dennis. This shouldn't take but a jiffy. Dale? Why don't you stay and keep my lady friend company?

_The two men head outside, leaving Dale to look across the bar at the mysterious woman. Taking only a moment to steady his nerves and project confidence, Dale gets up and sits beside her. The Curtis Mayfield song ends, and the jukebox changes records._

DALE:

Evening.

DAHLIA:

Evening, yourself.

_Dahlia helps herself to sizing up Dale with her entitled eyes, already forming her impressions of him._

DAHLIA:

You're not from California.

DALE:

Well, at a first glance, I would say neither are you.

_Dahlia's off-colored eyebrows give a single bounce up and down._

DAHLIA:

Are you just passing through?

DALE:

Yes.

DAHLIA:

Everyone at the Black Pony is just passing through. And, I'm always here to meet them.

_Dale offers a hand, which she eagerly accepts._

DALE:

I'm Dale.

DAHLIA:

Dahlia.

DALE:

Like the flower.

DAHLIA:

Like the flower.

DALE:

What do you do around here, Dahlia?

_Dahlia scoffs._

DAHLIA:

I wish I knew. You've no idea how much I wish I knew...

_Dahlia taps on the bar twice with her fingers and shouts at the bartender._

DAHLIA:

¡Ey, cantinero! ¡Dos disparos de tequila, por favor!

_Without a word, the bartender pours the drinks and slides two shots over. Dale holds up a hand in courteous declination._

DALE:

Oh, thank you for the offer, but I'm on the job. And, as a rule, I only have one drink a night.

_Dahlia smirks, already knowing she will get her way._

DAHLIA:

When you're with Dahlia, you break rules. ¡Salud!

_Dahlia knocks back her shot with ease. Compliantly, Dale drinks his, and erupts into a fit a coughing. Dahlia chuckles at her companion's lack of drinking experience._

DAHLIA:

So... are you running _from_ something, or running _towards_ something?

DALE:

What makes you think I'm running at all?

DAHLIA:

No one walks through life, any more. We're all running, in one direction or another.

_Dale nods in agreement._

DALE:

My partner and I are heading to Mexico for business.

DAHLIA:

What kind of business?

DALE:

The kind I'd rather not be involved in. And, yet, I find myself drawn to, time and time again.

_Dahlia nods at how familiar that statement sounds._

DAHLIA:

A lot of us find ourselves in similar fields. How long will you be in Mexico?

DALE:

Just the weekend.

DAHLIA:

And, then what?

_Dale shrugs._

DALE:

No idea. I guess I'll find out when I get there.

_Dahlia allows a pause before changing topics._

DAHLIA:

Tell me about your home?

_Dale considers for a moment._

DALE:

I have no home. I lived in Pittsburgh for awhile, but... well... things fell apart.

DAHLIA:

Any family?

_Dale grimaces and inhales through gritted teeth._

DALE:

I thought so, at one time...

_Heavy sigh._

DALE:

… But, I lost them both.

_Dale taps the bar._

DALE:

Another round!

_The scarred bartender groans and slides them their drinks without a word._

DALE:

The bartender isn't very sociable.

DAHLIA:

He has no tongue.

DALE:

How did that happen?

DAHLIA:

I don't know. You could ask him... but, you wouldn't get an answer.

_Dale chuckles, and the two share a toast and drink. The jukebox switches records._

DALE:

Where's your home?

DAHLIA:

Somewhere different every night.

DALE:

I'm sorry to hear that.

DAHLIA:

Don't be. At least it keeps thing fresh.

DALE:

Do you have any family?

DAHLIA:

None that would admit to it.

_Behind them, Jack and Dennis return from outside, hooting and hollering in camaraderie. Jack is wiping the oil from his hands onto a dirty rag, and nudges Cooper with a glistening smile._

JACK:

Patched up and ready to go. It was easier than I expected. Are you enjoying the company of our dear, sweet Dahlia?

DAHLIA:

Dale and I are just telling each other about our lonely lives.

JACK:

No little lady at home, Dale?

DALE:

Afraid not.

_Dahlia's eyebrows raise, and she scoots closer to Dale, wrapping her arm in his._

DAHLIA:

When you return from Mexico, you should come back... maybe we could spend a few nights together... see what happens?

_Dale goes red and stutters nervously, uncertain of the woman's intent. Jack laughs heartily, reassuring him._

JACK:

Don't worry, Dale, she's not after anything of yours. Our dearest Dahlia likes to tease the boys, but she prefers inviting birds of a different color back home to roost.

_Dahlia leans back and nods, placing a cigarette in her mouth. Jack's hand, already resting in his jacket pocket, makes a perfect arc through the air and brings a lighter up to the cig and ignites it, all in one smooth movement._

DAHLIA:

It's true.

DALE:

Which color?

DAHLIA:

_My_ colour.

DALE:

Oh, I see...

_Dale nods, finally understanding. Dennis makes an inquiry._

DENNIS:

What kind of girls do you like?

_Dahlia laughs, taking a drag from her cigarette and expelling a cloud of smoke into the barroom air._

DAHLIA:

"Girls" I can take under my wing... and transform into women.

_The men chuckle at Dahlia's earnestness. She then demands the same query from her male company._

DAHLIA:

How about you? What sort of "girls" do you like?

_Jack shakes his head in self-deprecation._

JACK:

Nothing but trouble. That's who I fall for. Nothing but trouble.

DENNIS:

I like girls that look like Helen Kane.

_Jack laughs uproariously at this mildly obscure reference._

JACK:

Are you kidding? Me, too!

DENNIS:

Yeah? I didn't think anyone else still remembered her.

JACK:

The "Boop-oop-eee-doop" girl? She was my childhood love...

_As the jukebox changes records once again, the two men share another drink, allowing Dale and Dahlia to continue their private conversation. Dale knew this conversation topic was inevitable, but he had not been eagerly anticipating it. He keeps his eyes upon the bartop._

DAHLIA:

How about you, Dale? You look like a man who's been in and out of love. Am I right?

DALE:

As a matter of fact, I have.

DAHLIA:

What happened?

DALE:

She was killed. Right in front of me.

_Dale looks Dahlia right in the eyes and doesn't blink._

DALE:

And I let it happen.

_A moment of painful silence rests over the bar. Dale brings his gaze back down to the empty shot glass. Dahlia feels Dale's pain, and rests her perfectly manicured hand upon his._

DAHLIA:

Bad things happen to all of us. It doesn't mean it was your fault.

_Dale is already shaking his head before Dahlia has finished offering her optimistic perspective, thoroughly convinced of his role in Caroline's death._

DALE:

Love is not merely a gift. It is also a responsibility. And, I failed in protecting my responsibility.

_Dahlia nods, acknowledging his loss, but refuting any trace of defeatism._

DAHLIA:

You realise what this means, then, don't you?

DALE:

No. What?

DAHLIA:

It means that you're going to make damn sure you don't fail, again. The next time you fall in love... you're going to protect her with your life.

_Dale chuckles, unable to accept this._

DALE:

I don't know... Lately, I get the feeling that I wasn't put on this Earth to seek out love.

DAHLIA:

Then what were you put here for?

_Dale purses his lips and blows outward._

DALE:

I wish I knew. Maybe someday I'll find out...

DAHLIA:

Love is always a risk... but it's a risk we must take. I've already lost everything because of love once... but I'd do it again, if I had to.

_Dahlia takes Dale firmly by the hand and inescapably locks eyes._

DAHLIA:

Love is worth suffering for. Love is even worth dying for. Because... at the end of the day... it's the only good thing there is about life.

_Dale's eyes lose their focus and he looks off into the distance. He snaps back to reality and shouts towards the bartender._

DALE:

Another round!

_We fade, solemnly, to black._

**409\. INT. WINKIE'S DINER – DAY**

_Dale Cooper is slumped in the window-side booth of a tacky chain-diner, holding his throbbing head in his palms as the agonizing hangover takes it's toll. Dennis Bryson returns to their seat with a perspiring glass in hand. He slides it across the table to Dale, who squints up at him with dehydrated, bloodshot eyes._

DENNIS:

Here, Coop. Drink some water.

_Dale hesitates and inspects the glass. The liquid inside is brown and has bits swarming around inside of it._

DALE:

This is water?

DENNIS:

It is when you're this close to the Gulf. C'mon, now, you're body needs it. Drink up.

_Dale laboriously brings the glass up to his lips and swallows, greedily._

DENNIS:

Boy, for someone who doesn't drink, you sure piled away last night. How much can you remember?

_Dale groans, massaging his temples._

DALE:

Just blurs... Dennis, it feels as though my eyeballs fell out of their sockets at some point during the night, and were forcibly reinserted using a ball-peen hammer...

_A pretty, young Latina waitress stands at their beckoning, notepad in hand, anxious to take their order._

DENNIS:

Well, lucky for you, we're serving up a plate of the DEA's patented hangover remedy.

_Dale groans._

DALE:

Ughhh... What's in it?

_Dennis livens up, expressing the ingredients as visually as possible with elaborate hand movements._

DENNIS:

To start, you'll have some olive juice... unstrained and room temperature with raw oysters plopped in. After you drink that, and take a few breaths to recover, you need to eat an entire mound of sweetbreads sauteed in liverwurst and Canadian bacon. And, it's got to be downed quickly, because it will be followed by big, juicy biscuits drenched in sausage gravy. Now, after that, things get a little more difficult, when you have to eat anchovies with –

_Dale's eyes have grown to gigantic proportions, and he runs off towards the restroom to evacuate his stomach._

DALE:

Excuse me...

_Dennis smiles, satisfied that his work is done. He looks up at the waitress._

DENNIS:

Banana pancakes for me, sweetheart. Thanks.

**410\. EXT. WINKIE'S DINER – DAY**

_Dennis is walking out to their Chevy Malibu, acting as crutch for Dale, who still has not realigned his equilibrium. They open the car doors and strap themselves inside. Before Dennis turns the ignition, he grips the steering wheel with both hands and faces his partner._

DENNIS:

You realize what happens when we cross that border? We'll be in another country. I mean... we'll be completely on our own. There's no backup to call... no badges to hide behind. No one will ever know if something goes wrong. After we cross that border... we no longer exist.

_Dennis wraps his fingers and thumb around the key, poised to twist his wrist, and waits for Dale's say-so._

DENNIS:

Are you ready for this?

_Dale meets his stare, unflinchingly._

DALE:

Let's go to work.

_The Malibu revs to life and pulls away, a cloud of dust left in it's wake, and the Agents head for the border. Parked behind the diner is a tarnished tan pick-up truck. It gives them a minute's head start, then follows in their direction..._

**411\. EXT. I-5 EXPRESSWAY SOUTH, DEA VEHICLE – DAY**

_The Malibu glides down the expressway at a steady pace, Dennis at the wheel and Dale riding shotgun. Dennis looks out the window at the lowering exit numbers which herald their proximity to the border. Dale's eyes keep drifting into the rear-view mirror._

DENNIS:

Okay. It's time to get into character. I'm Tom, and you're Jerry.

DALE:

No, no. I don't like Tom &amp; Jerry.

DENNIS:

Why not? They're classics.

DALE:

Too violent.

DENNIS:

But, isn't that why they're funny?

DALE:

Maybe to some. I never saw the appeal.

DENNIS:

Alright. How about... I'm Chip, and you're Dale? I always liked how they sped up their voices. You good with that?

_Dale chuckles._

DALE:

My name's _already_ Dale.

_Dennis slaps his forehead._

DENNIS:

Dammit. Okay, we'll come up with names later. Backstory.

_Dale recites from memory._

DALE:

We're insurance salesmen from Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

DENNIS:

And that's why we have no means of recreation other than cocain usage. Easy to believe.

DALE:

We've done this kind of thing before, but we're not experts. We're both married, but our wives have no idea where we are.

DENNIS:

Right. They think we're skiing in Aspen.

_Dale becomes cautious as he scans the rear-view mirror._

DALE:

Dennis, keep driving as if nothing is amiss, but I believe we're being followed.

DENNIS:

Really? You sure?

DALE:

There's a tan pickup truck just behind us. I noticed it parked behind the diner.

DENNIS:

That's not good...

_Dale's eyes narrow as he weighs their options._

**412\. EXT. MEXICAN BORDER CROSSING – DAY**

_Dale and Dennis queue up at the end of a long stretch of cars patiently waiting to cross the border into Mexico. The tan pick-up that has been following them pulls up directly behind. Dale observes it through the rear view mirror and notices two gruff Latino men seated within. The PICKUP DRIVER makes momentary contact with Dale's eyes._

DALE:

You stay here and keep the car running. I'm going to try something.

DENNIS:

What are you gonna do?

_Dale, eager to get this over with, has already unbuckled his belt and opened the car door. With a guilty sigh, he turns to Dennis and explains himself._

DALE:

Dennis, let us not forget that the greatest president this country has ever known, Abraham Lincoln, stooped to horse trading and racketeering in order to free this land from the tyranny of slavery. Unfortunately, we must sometimes bend the rules in order to achieve the greater good.

_Dennis nods, confident in his partner's judgment, and asks for no further explanation._

DENNIS:

Just hurry back, alright?

_Dale leaves the car and walks across the freeway, crossing over several lanes backed up with immobile automobiles. He spryly shifts his body between vehicles at a brisk pace in order to reach his destination quickly. His gaze is fixed upon a small booth to the furthest right-hand side of the border that has no accompanying queue. It is labeled "_EXPEDITED PASSAGE_"._

_On his journey, Dale passes a sky-blue station wagon. The passenger-side door is open, and an OVERWEIGHT MOTHER dressed in a stretched out floral muumuu is shouting at her disobedient son. The child in question is seated on the pavement outside, staring down a grotesquely gargantuan earthworm which he has cornered. He mercilessly, sadistically, and pointlessly stabs the segmented creature with a pointed stick as it wiggles around in agony. Each downward thrust is met with a nauseating splatter._

OVERWEIGHT MOTHER:

Gerald! Leave that thing alone! Would you come back into the car?! Gerald! Goddammit, Gerald! I'm not kidding around! Come in here right now! Gerald! Gerald! Gerald!

_Dale pays no notice as he impetuously sprints towards the far-end queue. Dale's slim frame shrinks off into the distance as he approaches a border guard. Though we cannot hear their exchange, it is obvious that Dale is shrewdly bargaining with him. Words are exchanged and some money passes hands, then Dale turns about face._

_On his return trip, Dale passes by the blue station wagon once more. The overweight mother is in the exact same seated position, seemingly unwilling to relocate her mass and still ineffectually shouting to her son. The child is not remotely swayed by her pleas, and continues his brutal torturing of the defenseless creature as if he has not even noticed her. The line of cars has moved ahead, and the further queue which has been blocked by the child has begun an onslaught of enraged honking._

OVERWEIGHT MOTHER:

Gerald! Gerald! I'm serious, now! If you don't come here, right this instant...! Gerald! Come into the car! Gerald! Gerald!

_Dale clambers by and reaches the Malibu, which has scarcely budged during his absence. He climbs inside and buckles himself in._

DENNIS:

How'd it go?

_Dale points off in the direction he came._

DALE:

We can pull over to the far end and they'll expedite our passage.

DENNIS:

Good work!

_Dennis shifts the car out of neutral and rolls to the right, cutting across lanes of honking autos._

DENNIS:

What'd you say?

DALE:

I brought fifty dollars with me, but I'm certainly glad I asked him to name his price.

DENNIS:

How much did you bribe him?

_Dale shakes his head in wonder._

DALE:

A fiver. Astounding how relative the value of money truly is.

_Their tail watches them in anger as they pull their car into the invitingly vacant expedited border crossing and pass straight through._

**413\. EXT. SEEDY TIUJANIAN STRIP – DAY**

_Dale and Dennis are driving along an especially virulent and perverse drag just South of the border. Lined up side-by-side are bars, strip clubs, prostitution alleys, and black market stands. Dale and Dennis ignore their degraded surroundings and plow on through._

_An American semi-truck is pulled over along the side of the road, and Dale witnesses the two male occupants pushing around a defenseless, young Latina woman. The two pot-bellied drivers are drinking from cheap beer bottles and hollering angrily, occasionally letting out an animalistic whoop. The woman has evidently declined the usage of her services, but the men are not listening. As she protests something in Spanish, the trucker clutches her by the shoulders and shoves her backwards into the dirt._

DALE:

Pull over. This should only take a moment.

_Dale steps out of the car and swiftly advances upon the violent men. He comes up behind the leaner of the two and forcefully grabs him by the testicles. We can hear the squishing as the grappled man writhes in agony. Dale manages to lift his entire body off of the ground by nothing other than his genitals and throws him backwards onto the gravel._

_The second man, enraged, swings at Dale with an intoxicated punch. Using Robin's signature reverse arm movement, Dale twists him completely around through the air and onto his back. Before he can get up, Dale brings his foot down in a hearty kick to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Dale issues a command to the two assailants._

DALE:

This woman is not interested in offering her services to you, and that is nonnegotiable! Now, you two are free to get into your vehicle and leave, but you are not free to stay! Is that clear!?

_The two drivers stagger to their feet, respectively clutching their arching groin and belly, and return to their truck, promptly driving away. Dale extends a hand, helping the woman up as she dusts herself off. In gratitude, she hugs Dale._

PROSTITUTE:

Gracias, señor.

DALE:

Not at all. I saw that you were in trouble, and I felt obligated to help.

_The woman reaches her hand below Dale's waist and fondles what she finds there._

PROSTITUTE:

You want me to do something for you? Just $50?

DALE:

Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I am working at the –

_Before Dale has even finished politely declining her solicitation, the woman zips off to snag another client. Unable to hide his disappointment, Dale stares off towards the sea of degradation for a moment longer before retreating back to the Malibu._

**414\. EXT. CASA DE VISTA MOTEL – DAY**

_The Agents pull into the sandy lot of a dingy, dirty motel. The lodgings appear to have been constructed with luxury in mind, but the years of neglected upkeep have reduced it's status to merely serviceable._

**415\. INT. CASA DE VISTA MOTEL, AGENTS' ROOM – DAY**

_Dale and Dennis enter their motel room. Thankfully, it is far tidier than the outside of the building indicated, and the furnishing tastefully sparse. A thick, red curtain hangs over the window. With a playful smile, Dale grips the drapes, embellishing a dramatic introduction before opening them._

DALE:

This establishment seems to take pride in it's view. Let's see what the scenery has to offer.

_The runners loudly whirr as the drapes are spread open. Laid out before them is nothing but the dusty road they pulled up in and a wretched, rotting outhouse. Dale spots a shaggy, brown dog dragging the dead carcass of a snake in it's mouth, leaving behind a long trail through the dirt._

DALE:

In all my travels, the only thing that remains constant is the lack of a view provided by accommodations which advertise one.

_With a genial shrug of his shoulders, Dale unpacks the scant few items he brought with him. As the two men ready themselves to go downstairs for lunch, Dale halts in his tracks as he notices the room's only piece of wall art. It is a reproduction of "Self Portrait with Monkeys 1940" by Frida Kahlo, and it depicts a wild, exotic Latina woman in a jungle. Hung around her neck is a string of thorns. A black bird hovers just below her jaw. Over her left shoulder is a black cat, and over her right is a Monkey. Dennis casually inquires why Dale has given pause._

DENNIS:

What is it?

_Dale is mesmerized by the painting, completely frozen in absorbed fascination. His stare is drawn specifically to the Monkey, and a deep feedback resonates in his ears as he focuses in on it. Something about the creature activates a vague intuitive recognition from within his subconscious. He shrugs his head, fighting to regain control of his mind._

DALE:

Nothing. Let's go.

**416\. INT. CASA DE VISTA MOTEL, DINING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale and Dennis are seated in the humble motel dining room. A platter of food is brought to their table by an attractive young waitress. She sets the platter down and removes the cover, the steam of the freshly prepared lunch rising up into the air. On the plate is a grilled snake, smothered in chili sauce and accompanied by broiled cactus. Both men look down at their dishes with cautious reproach._

DENNIS:

Is there a snake on my plate?

DALE:

I reckon so.

_They eye the deceased reptile for a few uncomfortable seconds._

DENNIS:

What should we do?

DALE:

In all honesty, I'm hungry enough to eat anything right now.

_Dale cuts into the green, leathery meat with his knife and fork, and Dennis follows by example. The rubbery chunks of flesh jiggle on the edge of their utensils, and they both take their first bites at precisely the same instant. After a few chews, they meet each other's gaze, detecting whether or not they are experiencing a similar revelation. Both Agents smile in relieved surprise and the deliciousness of the dish and chuckle as they swallow. Without a word, they cheerily finish their meals._

**417\. INT. CASA DE VISTA MOTEL – DAY**

_Dale and Dennis are back in their motel room, anxiously waiting for their call. Dennis sits on the edge of the bed, beside the telephone, while Dale paces by the window. Pulling back the curtain once more, Dale spots the tan pick-up truck parked across the street in plain sight._

DALE:

They've found us. These boys aren't too discreet, are they?

_The telephone rings, and Dennis answers._

DENNIS:

Hello? This is Lou. Yes, Bud is with me. No, it's just us. Okay. Alright. But, how will we know it's you? Yeah? Well, I don't think that's very –

_The line goes dead, and Dennis hangs up. Dale asks to be filled in without using his voice. Dennis' eyes lack confidence._

DENNIS:

We're to wait for him at the cotton candy stand by the bull ring.

DALE:

How will we recognize him?

DENNIS:

We won't. He said he'll know us.

DALE:

That doesn't sound good to me.

DENNIS:

Me, neither. That sounds spectacularly not good.

_Options weighing on his mind, Dennis walks over to the his briefcase, lifting it up in demonstration._

DENNIS:

Stick to procedure as best you can, but should anything go wrong, open up the false bottom of the briefcase.

DALE:

What will I find inside?

DENNIS:

Back-up.

_Dale nods in acknowledgment, his face grim._

DENNIS:

You ready for this, now?

DALE:

I think we should lose our friends in the pickup truck, first.

DENNIS:

I think you're right.

**418\. EXT. TIJUANIAN MARKETPLACE – DAY**

_The cramped marketplace is held in a narrow alleyway with high, confining walls bordering either side. The stretch is packed with vendors selling vegetables, fruit, and other produce. About half of the sellers do not have a booth, but merely sit upon the ground with their wares spread outwards. A wide variety of trinkets are available in bulk for travelers, including small skulls for the Day of the Dead festival._

_The two gruff Latino men from the pick-up truck lumber through the dense crowd. Both their eyes are narrowed and their faces set in matching scowls. They can see the two DEA Agents a few yards ahead, several rows of market-goers between them. They continue at a casual but constant pace, keeping the Agents in sight at all time as they push their way through the heavily peopled street._

_Dale Cooper and Dennis Bryson are moving forward as briskly as they can, not letting on that they are aware of their pursuers. The narrow walls and cluttered floorspace of the market diminishes their options of escape, but Dale realizes the urgency to lose the two men. Abruptly, Dale senses opportunity. He nudges Dennis in the ribs and points ahead._

_The two Agents make a break for it and disappear around the corner into an open area. The two gruff Latino men spot this and hasten to catch up. They shove their way through the rabble of gawkers until they reach the corner. As they round the edge of the wall, they stop in their tracks._

_In front of them is a gathering of about twenty tourists, most of whom are white men with dark hair. They are dorkily taking photos of their surroundings with goofy smiles on their faces. The two Mexicans rush into the group, grabbing tourists to examine their faces, pushing them aside when they realize it is not the men they were after. The driver curses in frustration._

DRIVER:

¡Todos estos gringos son iguales a mi!

_Certain that the DEA Agents are not amongst the group and no longer nearby, the two men grimace and kick up dirt in anger. Optimistically, the second man nudges the driver, pointing to an enticing taco stand, nearby. Both men's frowns are immediately replaced with smiles as they embark to purchase some comfort food, a momentary replacement for their rage._

**419\. EXT. BULLRING, COTTON CANDY STAND – DAY**

_Sometime later, Dale is kneeling in a secluded alcove across the street from a cotton candy stand, watching Dennis from afar. The confectionery vendor's stand is a simple wooden construction, painted white with an anthropomorphic pink cartoon cotton ball ushering patrons to partake of it's sugary goodness. Beside it is a dusty bullring, bordered by a tall gate._

_Dennis stands at the edge of the ring, eying passersby as he waits for his contact to show up. A suspicious man approaches from a nearby alley wearing a stained, tattered overcoat. Dennis tries to establish eye contact, but he just passes by, paying him no mind._

_The MAN IN THE WHITE SUITE __**[Geno Silva]**__ is purchasing a cone of pink cotton candy behind Dennis. His flat-nosed face and outgrown muttonchops appear nonthreatening, but his vicious eyes declare otherwise. He discreetly strolls up beside Dennis, casually licking from his candy floss, mockingly peering off in the same direction as the Agent._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

You like cotton candy?

_Dennis is startled, and turns to face the speaker._

DENNIS:

Huh? Oh. Sure, I guess. But, I don't... want a lick, or anything.

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

I wasn't offering. Just idly curious.

_Dennis turns his attention back towards the passing masses._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

You know... whenever I'm in need of a rush, a voluminous weaving of pure cane sugar such as this really hits the spot. But, I guess you're after some of the harder stuff, am I right?

_The relevance of the man finally dawns on Dennis and he turns to face him. His eyelids are clenched tightly, squinting from the unfiltered brightness of the afternoon Sun._

DENNIS:

Are you my contact?

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

I'm standing here, contacting you, aren't I?

_The Man in the White Suit savors his cotton candy, leisurely licking it's saccharine tufts and waves as they dissolve in his mouth. He sizes up Dennis with an insidious stare._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

You ever done this before?

_Dennis tries to play it cool, but realizes that giving off a vague sense of inexperience would be beneficial to his cover._

DENNIS:

Once or twice. So... where are the goods?

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Back at my ranch. You don't think I'd be loco enough to bring them out in public, do you?

DENNIS:

I guess not...

_Dennis discreetly signals to "come forward" with his fingers. Dale leaves his spot of cover and approaches the two._

DENNIS:

That mean we're coming back to your place?

_The man in the white suit is surprised at Dale's appearance. He drops his delectable cotton candy and it falls to the filthy ground. A small wrist gun pops out of his sleeve. He comes up behind Dennis and buries the muzzle in his spine._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Back off! Don't move! Who the fuck is this?

_Dale freezes and holds out his hands in surrender._

DALE:

Okay! Okay! Easy. Easy.

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Who is this guy?

DENNIS:

This is Bud, my partner.

_The man in the white suit defiantly shakes his head._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

No. I didn't know there would be two of you. I'll only deal with one.

DENNIS:

I made it clear that there would be two of us.

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Well, it wasn't made clear to me, gringo!

_The man removes the gun from Dennis' back and points it at Dale._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Back up!

DENNIS:

Hey, put the gun down! That's my friend! I'm not doing any business unless he's with me!

_The man in the white suit laughs, pushing the gun against Dennis' skull._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

You're in no position to make any demands. If you want to deal, you come with me now...

_The main points his gun at Dale once more._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

… and you stay here.

_A tense moment passes as all three men remain silent._

DENNIS:

Okay. Okay. I'll deal. He'll stay. However you want to play it.

_Dale wants to object, but he remains silent, bending to his partner's judgment._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Bien. Let's go deal.

DENNIS:

What's the plan for my friend?

_The Man in the White Suit flashes Dale an insincere smile._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Go relax at your hotel room. We'll call you in four hours, clear?

DALE:

This is just a transaction, right? In and out? No one wants to get hurt.

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

That's right. Quick and painless. Vamanos, muchacho.

_The Man in the White Suit leads Dennis away at concealed gunpoint. Dale is immediately distrustful as he witnesses his partner being marched away towards certain doom. They enter a gray Mercedes and drive away down the dusty trail._

_Once the two men have departed, Dale returns to his spot of cover. Kneeling down upon the ground, he opens up the secret compartment in the bottom of the briefcase. Inside, he discovers two Israeli hand grenades and a sub-machine gun._

DALE:

Back-up...

**420\. EXT. MEXICAN SKY – NIGHT**

_Many hours have passed with Dennis' whereabouts and safety unknown. The night sky is lonely and empty, not even a trace of the Moon to be seen..._

**421\. EXT. TIJUANA ROADSIDE DITCH – NIGHT**

_The tan pickup truck is parked beside a secluded ditch on the outskirts of town. The two gruff Latino men sit inside, wiling away their time with nothing to do. They keep the windows rolled down and enjoy the warm evening breeze. The driver is messily devouring a sloppy taco, a cascade of salsa and shredded lettuce spilling out onto his shirt. His partner drums his fingers against the dashboard. Unbeknownst to either man, a figure is coming towards them through the darkness at a fevered pace._

_Dale Cooper thrusts his hand through the lowered driver's seat window. Clutched in his fist is a hand-grenade, which he promptly removes the pin from. Dale pinches the safety lever in place with his fingers and lowers the grenade directly into the crotch of the driver, who spits out his chewed taco in shock._

DRIVER:

¡Pinche cabron!

DALE:

My friend was taken by a man in a white suit this afternoon at three o'clock! He was driven away in a gray Mercedes! Where did they go!?

DRIVER:

A ranch! Outside the city! I – I – I can take you there!

_Dale lifts the grenade out of the man's crotch and brings it up towards his mouth._

DALE:

Bite down! Bite down! Now!

_The driver complies and bites down on the grenade, his teeth clamping the safety lever from releasing. Dale quickly tosses the pin into the dirt behind him. Before the other man has a chance to make a retreat to safety, Dale aim his sub-machine gun and lines him in his sights._

DALE:

Out of the car, now! Both of you!

_Reduced to whimpering babies, the two men crawl out of the truck as Dale prepares two long lengths of rope from around his waist._

DALE:

On the ground! Now!

_With expert precision, Dale quickly ties up both men back-to-back with inescapable knots, but leaves one of the driver's arms free. Once they are secured, Dale retrieves the pin from the dirt, carefully removes the grenade from the driver's mouth, and secures the latch. He unfolds a map of Tijuana and holds it up to the sniveling driver._

DALE:

Point out where this ranch is!

_A shaky hand pinpoints a spot. Dale nods his head, draws a circle in pen around the designated area, and pockets the map. He then ties up his captive's remaining extremity._

DALE:

I'll be taking the truck.

DRIVER:

¡Si! ¡Si! Anything you want! Just don't kill us!

_Dale secures his arsenal of weaponry back inside the hollow briefcase and loads it into the pick-up truck. The two men pull at their impossibly tight restraints to no avail._

DRIVER:

¡Hombre! ¡Espera! Who are you!? CIA? Green Beret? Navy Corps?

_Dale stands for a moment, poised with stoic pride. A spontaneous gust of wind blows epically through his hair. He lowers his voice and brazenly declares..._

DALE:

I'm an Eagle Scout.

_Dale loudly slams the truck door and pulls away, leaving the two restrained men struggling around on the ground, alone in the darkness._

**422\. EXT. RANCH – NIGHT**

_An uncompromisingly dark night has fallen over the Mexican countryside. Not even a hint of Moon highlights the cloudless sky. Dale Cooper can barely discern the ground beneath him as he tiptoes through the twigs and branches scattered across the woodland. He is camouflaged all in black and blends seamlessly into the dim surroundings. Dale crouches behind a dense patch of shrubbery, rooted at the edge of an incline which overlooks the property grounds, and surveys the land._

_The immense garden of the ranch is opulent and refined, it's owner evidently wealthy. Parallel to the actual house of the estate is a swimming pool, and beside that is a sports pitch. There are six guards patrolling the grounds in circles, armed with semi-automatic rifles._

_The gentle neighing of a horse, reflexively shaking it's mane, grabs Dale's attention over to the corral. To the immediate left of it is a small outbuilding, incongruously shabby compared to the rest of the lavish estate. A seventh armed sentry stands at the door, dutifully ensuring that it's occupant will never escape._

_Dale carefully observes the outbuilding, deducing that it must be holding his partner. As he considers how he can gain entry, the door opens from within. The Man in the White Suit emerges, wiping sweat from his brow and revolving his sore shoulder blade. Equipped upon his right hand is a bloody set of brass knuckles. He takes a satin handkerchief from his inner pocket and dabs away the moisture collected along his forehead. He commands something to the guard._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Todavia no dice nada. Voy por un trago y de ahi regreso para acabar con el.

_The white suited man tosses his bloody, sweaty handkerchief to the guard, leaving him to dispose of it, and heads off towards the home. Dale backs down below the edge of the bushes, kneeling on the ground and laying out his briefcase. He removes the sub-machine gun, the two hand-grenades, and a large sling which he has fastened from hemp. He wraps the sling around his palms and tests the tensile strength, then loops the center around one of his grenades._

_Readying himself for the coming conflict, Dale crawls out from behind the bushes and rises, feeling the weight of the sling in his hand and the gun slung around his shoulder. He takes a deep, calming breath and sends a silent prayer to anyone above who may be listening. In one swift movement, Dale removes the pin and hurls the sling upwards, launching the live grenade down the hill towards the outbuilding._

_The grenade clatters against the door and rolls onto the ground. The armed sentry has enough time to curiously look down at the object, which resembles nothing more than a pine-cone in the dark, before an explosion sends him rocketing backwards through the air. The concussive blast also takes out most the of the front wall of the small building, sending shards of wood scattering in every direction._

_Dale immediately charges down the hill, his body hunched over so as to be less of an obvious target. As he reaches the outbuilding, the other guards are already encroaching on his position. Dale arms his sub-machine gun, steps over the injured sentry, who is moaning from his burns, and rushes into the partially decimated building._

**423\. INT. RANCH, HOLDING SHED – NIGHT**

_Dennis Bryson is bound to a chair with a soiled gag inserted into his mouth. His swollen face is blistered with cuts and bruises and his clothing is sooty from the recent close-proximity explosion. His eyes enlarge with thankful surprise at his partner's unannounced appearance. Dale dashes across the room and uses his experience with ropes to quickly untie him. Just as the last piece of rope falls to the ground, shots ring out and hit the wall just above their heads. _

_Both Agents instinctively fall to the floor and cover their heads as the gunmen open fire, dust and debris raining down upon them. Dale rolls to the very edge of the room, ducking behind the splinters which remain of the doorway, and unloads some cover fire. Once the shooting has momentarily stopped, Dale pulls the pin from his remaining grenade and tosses it towards the oncoming sentries. An explosion rocks the Earth and sends three men catapulting skywards._

**424\. EXT. RANCH – NIGHT**

_Through the smoke, Dale and Dennis make a dash for escape into the cover of night. As the Agents crawl up the hill towards the outlying woodland, one guard remains swiftly on their tail. Dale pauses for a moment as he glimpses the sentry crawling over the apex of the hill. Before he can get a bead on them, Dale aims his sub-machine gun and blows out the man's kneecaps. The guard crumples to the ground and rolls back down the hill._

_The two DEA Agents sprint for the treeline and vanish into the Moonless night. The Man in the White Suit finally reaches the edge of the estate, witnessing the devastation left in their wake. He winces off into the direction where they disappeared, gritting his teeth and shaking his head in rage, but perhaps a modicum of professional respect._

MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT:

Bien hecho, cabrones.

**425\. EXT. I-5 EXPRESSWAY NORTH, AGENTS' CAR – DAY**

_Dale Cooper and Dennis Bryson are in their Chevy Malibu, driving North on the freeway back towards San Diego. The license plates have been hastily discarded and replaced with one of the mechanic's handy spares, now reading that they originate from "_Rode Island_"_._ Dennis' face has gone swollen from his beatings, and both Agents' tattered clothes are stained with ash and dust. Roy Orbison's "I'm Hurtin'" cheerily blasts from the car's radio. Still reeling from their recent adrenaline rush, the two gaze dead ahead as Dale rides the speed limit. Dale shakes his head and lets out a whistle, allowing himself a grin._

DALE:

That sure was a wild one, wasn't it?

DENNIS:

You didn't have to come back for me. I broke procedure by agreeing to accompany the buyer alone. According to protocol, you're only responsibility was to wait in the hotel for my call. But... you still came back for me. That took a lot of guts. I won't forget that.

_Dale modestly rejects his partner's gratitude._

DALE:

Thank you, Dennis, but I only did what any Agent, or, I'd like to believe, any decent human being would do. I had to go back for my partner. A partner is not something to be taken lightly...

DENNIS:

Well, I owe you my life, and I intend on making us even. Our next case... I'll have your back. That's a promise.

_Dale shifts uncomfortably in his seat._

DALE:

Dennis, I'm going to be honest with you... Much as I respect the cowboy espirit de corps of you and your kin... I don't think I'm cut out for the DEA.

_Dennis takes a moment to accept this unfortunate news._

DENNIS:

I'm sorry to hear that, Coop. What do you figure you're going to do, then

DALE:

I'll talk to Gordon, but it might be time to face something which I'd hoped I could put off.

DENNIS:

What's that?

DALE:

Returning home.

**426\. INT. PORTLAND FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_Gordon Cole is standing behind his desk at the Portland Bureau office. Behind him is a luscious mural depicting various species of Northwestern wildlife frolicking about in a glen. A cup of steaming hot black coffee, filled to the brim, is gripped avariciously in Gordon's hand._

_MARGOT __**[Nancye Ferguson]**__, his physically attractive personal assistant, has just delivered to him a pertinent piece of information. Her round face is sculpted in an eerily unchanging smile, and her short black bob swings back and forth with every jerk of her head. She carefully articulates each and every word with an inhumanely chirpy optimism. At the moment, Gordon's brow is heavily furrowed as he struggles to understand what he's just been told._

GORDON:

LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT! THE DOCTOR SAYS IT'S _TERMINAL_!? MY GOD, MARGOT! YOU COULD'VE GIVEN ME A MOMENT TO PREPARE MYSELF FOR SUCH DEVASTATING NEWS!

_Margot just grins complacently and shakes her head, her perky voice bouncing up and down with every syllable. She cautiously enunciates every word as if she is communicating with a mentally disabled child._

MARGOT:

No, no, no! That's not what I said at all, Chief! I said "Special Agent Dale Cooper is on the telephone"!

_Gordon's brow embarks on a roller-coaster ride of repositioning as his disposition improves._

GORDON:

IS THAT SO!? WELL, THAT'S MUCH BETTER NEWS!

MARGOT:

He's on line two, Chief!

GORDON:

LINE WHAT, NOW!?

_Margot holds up two fingers and squeaks like a cartoon bunny._

MARGOT:

Two!

GORDON:

LINE TWO! GOT IT! THANKS A HEAP, MARGOT!

_Tiny Margot skips out of the office, giving Gordon some privacy. He picks up the telephone and screams into the receiver._

GORDON:

I WAS WONDERING WHEN I'D BE GETTING THIS CALL, COOP! WHERE IS IT YOU WANT TO TRANSFER TO, NOW!?

_Gordon chuckles at Dale's response on the other end._

GORDON:

DON'T WORRY, COOP! I'M ONLY JOSTLING YOU! AS IT HAPPENS, I HAVE A DESK THAT NEEDS FILLING AT THE PHILADELPHIA BRANCH! HOW DOES THAT SOUND!?

_Gordon chuckles once more to Dale's agreement, and partakes of a noisy slurp from his piping hot brew._

**427\. EXT. PHILADELPHIA FBI OFFICES – DAY**

CAPTION:

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

January 7, 1988

_The cracked Liberty Bell stands in a wooden housing, it's shadow equally cracked. The Philadelphia Offices of the FBI look much as they did on the day that Dale took his entrance exam all those years ago..._

**428\. INT. PHILADELPHIA FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_The shaky, faded blue elevator doors slide open to reveal Special Agent Dale Cooper, back in his befitting black suit and tie. As he strolls down the hallway, he passes a security room where a guard is monitoring a grid of televisions, each one assigned to a different camera in the building's security network. The guard absentmindedly waves at him as he passes._

_As Dale rounds the corner into the office proper, he finds that the room is mostly vacant, save for Gordon Cole, who stands at the desk specially designated for senior Agents. A wide smile broadens his face and he steps forward to greet his dear friend with a wildly arching handshake._

GORDON:

SPECIAL AGENT DALE COOPER!

DALE:

Gordon! Good to see you!

GORDON:

WELCOME BACK TO THE BUREAU, COOP! WELCOME HOME! ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF AS _REGIONAL CHIEF_ GORDON COLE!

DALE:

Congratulations, Gordon! There's no better man for the job!

_Both Agents slap each other chummily on the shoulders and smile, happy to have become reacquainted._

GORDON:

BY THE WAY, COOP! THERE'S A FLORIST COMING BY LATER, BUT SHE'S FROM OUT OF TOWN! A LITTLE _BLUE_ AROUND THE _GILLS_!

_Gordon dramatically wraps his right hand around his chin and taps the side of his jaw with his finger. Dale is completely befuddled by this unnecessarily cryptic statement and accompanying hand gesture. He stammers, searching for a response, but Gordon changes the subject as Special Agent Chester Desmond approaches from the kitchen nook. He matches with the both of them in a trim black suit and tie, and his stylish pompadour haircut forms a point just above his forehead._

GORDON:

BUT MORE ON THAT LATER! ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE THE NEW RESIDENT TOP DOG! THIS IS SPECIAL AGENT CHESTER DESMOND!

_Desmond extends a friendly hand. It's grip is competitive._

DESMOND:

Call me Chet.

DALE:

Pleasure to meet you, Chet. I'm Dale –

DESMOND:

Cooper. I know. I've heard all about you.

GORDON:

YOU CAN JUST CALL HIM CHET! AND, THIS IS SPECIAL AGENT DALE COOPER! YOU MAY HAVE HEARD ABOUT HIM!

DESMOND:

Yeah, thanks, Gordon.

DALE:

You can call me Coop.

GORDON:

JUST CALL HIM COOP!

DALE:

Thanks, Gordon!

GORDON:

WE WERE REAL LUCKY TO GET CHET, HERE! HE'S AN EXPERT IN SERIAL MURDER CASES! BEST MAN IN THE SACRAMENTO BRANCH! NO IDEA WHY HE WAS REASSIGNED TO PITTSBURGH! A REAL FLUKE!

_With a shrug, Desmond explains himself, reluctant to delve into detail._

DESMOND:

Family trouble back home. Me and my niece needed a new start... I was thinking New York, but she was adamant about Philly. I've already tried to tell Gordon a few times, but, you know...

GORDON:

I MEAN IT, COOP! YOU'RE GONNA HAVE SOME COMPETITION IF YOU WANT THE TOP CASES ANYMORE!

_Dale holds up a hand, silently pleading Gordon to "go no further"._

DALE:

Gordon, I would assume no less! I abhor nepotism, and I would accept no preferential treatment, whatsoever! I intend to prove myself to this branch based solely on the value of my current abilities!

_Desmond nods, looking impressed._

DESMOND:

I heard you were good. It'll be nice working together.

_Dale inhales, preparing to respond, but before Desmond or Dale can continue their conversation, Special Agent Albert Rosenfield emerges from a side room and comes up behind Dale, giving him a big bear hug and lifting him up into the air._

ALBERT:

There he is! There's my boy!

DESMOND:

Woah...

_Desmond is stunned by the outburst of male bonding from the usually cold Rosenfield. Although taken off-guard, Dale smiles as Albert lowers him back down to earth._

DALE:

Albert! It's good to see you, my friend! You've been reassigned to Philadelphia?

ALBERT:

What can I say, Coop? Pittsburgh just wasn't been the same without your smile to liven up the place. Call me crazy, but sometimes working alone in the morgue can be a trifle gloomy.

DALE:

I can imagine...

_Desmond eyes Albert suspiciously, his left brow distinctly raised. Albert turns to him, his expression instantly hardening again._

ALBERT:

What are you staring at, beatnik?

_Desmond just sneers, mouths the word "beatnik?" in silent bewilderment, and retreats back to his desk. Albert turns back to Dale as if no conflict had just taken place._

ALBERT:

I'm mostly working out in the field these days, giving night classes to inbred yokels and showing them how to use a scalpel, teaching them which end's the head and which end's the foot, that sort of thing.

DALE:

Sounds terrific. Say, Albert. Tell me...

_Dale wraps his arm around Albert and whispers discreetly..._

DALE:

What the hell is all this about a florist coming by?

ALBERT:

Oh, that's just Gordon's new code he's trying out.

DALE:

Code?

ALBERT:

Yeah. Play along and don't ask. Just grin and nod like the rest of us have been doing.

_Gordon pipes up, ushering Dale with an eager arm._

GORDON:

COOP! IF YOU WOULDN'T MIND, I'D LIKE TO HAVE A WORD, PRIVATELY!

_With a playful roll of his eyes, Dale futilely follows Gordon to the insufficiently sound-proofed meeting room. The door closes, but every word said by Gordon bellows out into the office._

GORDON:

COOP! I'LL HAVE TO ASK THAT NOTHING I'M ABOUT TO SAY LEAVES THIS ROOM!

**429\. INT. PHILADELPHIA FBI OFFICES, MEETING ROOM – DAY**

_Gordon and Dale stand across from one another, their expressions grim._

GORDON:

NOW, WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU HAVE A HARD TIME STAYING PUT FOR LONG! YOU'RE NOT THE TYPE TO BE COOPED UP, ARE YA, COOP!?

DALE:

I suppose that's true... I do have a wondering spirit inside of me, it would seem!

GORDON:

WELL, FORTUNATELY FOR YOU, MOST OF YOUR CASES, HERE, WILL BE TAKING YOU OUT OF STATE! YOU'LL BE ON THE MOVE ALMOST CONSTANTLY! HOW DOES THAT SOUND!?

DALE:

For the moment... I'd say that sounds pretty good!

GORDON:

THE REASON I WANTED YOU IN PHILADELPHIA IS NOT JUST BECAUSE IT'S FAMILIAR TURF, YOU UNDERSTAND! THERE'S AN ULTERIOR MOTIVE BEHIND YOUR TRANSFER!

DALE:

…Then why _did_ you call me here!?

GORDON:

WELL, COOP! AS YOU WELL KNOW, AN AWFUL LOT OF CASES GO BY MY DESK! MANY OF THEM ARE STANDARD PROCEDURE! KIDNAPPING! ARSON! ROBBERY! MURDER! THESE ARE ALL REAL PROBLEMS THAT REAL MEN CAN SOLVE USING THEIR REAL BRAINS AND THEIR REAL FISTS! AND, A HECKUVA LOT OF PAPERWORK, TO FOLLOW! BUT THEN, EVERY ONCE IN AWHILE... THERE ARE CASES THAT... WELL... THAT JUST DON'T MAKE A LICK OF SENSE!

DALE:

Like, what!?

GORDON:

LIKE YOUR DEAD GIRLS WITH THE BLUE BEETLES INSERTED INTO THEIR EARS! YOU REMEMBER THAT ONE!?

_Dale freezes, his throat unable to swallow as unforgettable nightmares resurface._

DALE:

Of course I remember...

GORDON:

I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING YOUR WORK FOR YEARS, NOW, COOP! YOU'VE GOT A GIFT! YOU'RE HARDWIRED A CERTAIN WAY THAT LEAVES YOU OPEN TO UNDERSTANDING THE FORCES IN THIS WORLD THAT ARE BEYOND OUR OWN! THAT'S WHY I NEED YOU HANDY SHOULD THE... UNEXPLAINABLE ARISE!

DALE:

What are you trying to tell me here, Gordon!?

GORDON:

DUE TO OFFICIAL BUREAU GUIDELINES, I'M NOT AT LIBERTY TO SAY ANYMORE! AND, NEITHER ARE YOU! BUT, I THINK WE'RE BOTH WELL AWARE OF WHAT I MEANT, JUST NOW! AND, SHOULD A CASE LIKE THIS PASS BY YOUR DESK... YOU'LL KNOW IT'S SIGNIFICANCE BY THE SIGHT OF THE BLUE ROSE!

DALE:

The Blue Rose...

_Dale repeats the symbolic code with whispered reverence. Both men nod at one another, and never speak another word of this conversation._

**430\. INT. PHILADELPHIA FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_The two Agents leave the meeting room, softly closing the door behind them. Albert is leaning against the wall, arms folded, unimpressed._

ALBERT:

So, Kolchak the Night Stalker's recruited you to be part of his vampire hunting squad, eh?

_Dale just smiles at Albert's candid mockery._

DALE:

I guess so.

_Albert rolls his eyes and scoffs._

ALBERT:

Yeah, well... best of luck exorcising all the Grim Grinning Ghosts of the world. Just promise me you won't adorn yourself in garlic cloves when you're in the office, alright? Our desks are side-by-side.

_Unaware of their conversation, Gordon shouts from across the room to Dale_

GORDON:

BY THE WAY, COOP, A PACKAGE CAME BY FOR YOU THIS MORNING! IT'S LAYING ON YOUR DESK!

_Dale grows cold, a chill running up his spine. He turns to face Gordon._

DALE:

But... who else knew I was transferring today?

_The three Agents march to Dale's desk and find a small brown envelope with no return address. Scrawled out in red ink on the cardboard sleeve is a crude icon of a snake eating it's tail, forming a perfect circle. Dale opens the parcel and turns it on it's side, it's contents spilling out onto the desk. The only thing inside is an unmarked cassette tape. Gordon, Albert and Dale exchange worried glances._

**431\. INT. PHILADELPHIA FBI OFFICES, MEETING ROOM – DAY**

_In the private meeting room, Dale Cooper, Gordon Cole and Albert Rosenfield are listening to the hissing tape play on a portable cassette deck. The voice on the recording is that of Windom Earle..._

WINDOM:

There once was an Agent from Dover,

Who loved to smell the clover,

When along came an arrow,

Right through his marrow,

Now the Agent from Dover is dead.

I know that last line didn't rhyme, but it so fit the spirit of the poem, don't you think, Dale? I did do another one. Would you like to hear it?

One dark day in the middle of the night,

Two dead Agents got up to fight,

Back to back they faced each other,

Drew their swords and shot each other,

A deaf policeman heard the noise,

But Cooper was dead, just like Windom's wife,

I have seen the Future, and it is now.

See you soon, Dale. Your loyal friend and teacher, Windom of Earle... Has kind of a baronial splendour to it, don't you think?

_The tape stops playing with a loud click, but heightening tension remains in the room between the three Agents._

GORDON:

YOU HAVE MY WORD, DALE, THAT AGENT EARLE WILL NEVER LEAVE THAT HOSPITAL!

DALE:

I can only hope that your word is enough...

_Dale steps forward, looking beyond the ceiling into some far away pocket of his subconscious. He speaks with dread, sensing the forthcoming conflict..._

DALE:

It is clear that I have a very dangerous and persistent enemy confined within those walls.

**432\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, WINDOM'S CELL – NIGHT**

_Windom Earle is sitting back against the corner of his cell wall in a position similar to a King sitting upon his throne. Laid out on the floor below him is a Chessboard, mid-game. A bolt of lightening strikes outside, the white light flashing through the window bars. As Windom dons a sinister grin, the white light flashing against his face appears disturbingly similar to the strobe light effect of the Red Room..._

**433\. INT. THE DELI-RIOUS – DAY**

_Special Agent Chester Desmond, dressed in his form-fitting black suit and tie even during off-hours, is seated at a cramped, sticky booth inside a kitschy, family-owned deli. His mind distracted, he leans against the window and positions his stare towards the distant horizon. The midday Sun glares brightly through the backwards signature and reflects blindingly off of the green Formica table._

_On the other side of the table is Vera Tierney. The freckled young girl wears a school uniform and rests a hefty backpack in the seat beside her. The satchel is weighed down with a stack of dense textbooks and other secreted items. The little girl is enjoying a freshly made sandwich, accompanied by a generous portion of fries and mayonnaise. She takes momentary breaks from her sandwich to slurp fountain soda out of a plastic cup._

_Both of them seem happy enough to be in each other's company, but they both have a real difficulty connecting. Desmond does his best to initiate a conversation, sticking mostly to standard ice breaking questions regarding with how his niece has been coping._

DESMOND:

So... uhm... How's school?

VERA:

School? School's okay.

DESMOND:

Everyone been treating you nicely? I know it's always difficult being the new student...

VERA:

They've been fine.

DESMOND:

Good. And... How have you been sleeping?

VERA:

Uhm... I've been sleeping alright.

_Desmond eyes his niece for a moment, trying to read her._

DESMOND:

What do you think about at night? When you close your eyes... what do you see?

_Vera shuts her eyelids and visualizes. What she sees prompts a smile._

VERA:

Angels.

_Desmond allows himself a grin._

DESMOND:

That's great. No one better to watch over you than an Angel. You're a lucky girl.

VERA:

I _am_ a lucky girl.

_Vera takes a large slurp of her soda._

VERA:

Do you ever talk to Angels, Desmond?

DESMOND:

No, sweetie. I haven't talked to any Angles for a long, long time...

_Desmond dotingly watches his niece eat for a few moments, then clears his throat and says something he does not look forward to._

DESMOND:

I'm heading out to North Dakota tomorrow. For work. I'll be gone a few days. It'll just be you and the sitter for awhile. What's her name?

VERA:

Wendy.

DESMOND:

Wendy. Right. … How is she?

_Vera shrugs._

VERA:

She's okay, I guess. She's always on the phone...

_Desmond feels the sudden need to apologize._

DESMOND:

I'm sorry I can't be around more... This was all so sudden, and... You know, moving was... I've done what I can to pull things together for you, but –

_Vera looks up from her food and meets his gaze with nothing but eyes of gratitude. She takes Desmond by the hand, dissuading all his worries with one sentence._

VERA:

This is where we're _supposed_ to be, Uncle Desmond.

_Desmond takes his niece's conviction to heart. She relieves much of the pent-up guilt he has stored inside._

DESMOND:

You're such a lovely little girl. Things will get better for us. I promise.

VERA:

I think things are already better.

_Beaming from his niece's appreciative kindness, Desmond stands and excuses himself._

DESMOND:

Take your time, sweetie. Enjoy your food. I've got to go visit the men's room.

_Vera nods and resumes shoving clusters of fries into her mouth, watching Desmond leave. Once he has rounded the corner into the restrooms, she unzips her heavy backpack. Inside, amongst various textbooks, is the snowglobe. Vera lifts it up and brings it close to her face. The light from outside the window shines through the curved glass and bounces off every speckle of glitter swirling about. The plaster bird sitting atop the Sycamore tree looks up at her. Vera whispers to the snowglobe..._

VERA:

Thank you for fixing everything.

_We slowly fade out on the glistening snowglobe sparkles reflecting on Vera's face..._

**434\. EXT. DEER MEADOW, WIND RIVER – DAY**

SUBTITLE:

Deer Meadow, Washington

January 15th, 1988

_ TERESA BANKS' __**[Pamela Gidley]**__ body is laying face down in the dirt, having been freshly pummeled to death with a crowbar. Her twisted jaw hangs open, and an open head wound at the left of her scalp is leaking out into her short, bleached hair. Her lifeless eyes stare up at the bright Sun overhead, the rays of which shall never again be felt on the young girl's skin._

_Leland Palmer stands above her, hastily wrapping her body up in plastic. Dripping with the sweat of manic paranoia, the murderer looks around skittishly in every direction. Satisfied that he isn't being watched, he pushes the body into the river. He removes his rubber gloves and pockets them, giving his hands a quick wash in the water. Allowing a brief flicker of depraved insanity to shine forth from his eyes, Leland then straightens out the wrinkles in his suit and slicks back his hair. With a hearty breath of invigoration, he merrily strolls off towards his car, singing a happy tune and shuffling side-to-side._

LELAND:

Just what makes that little old ant

Think he'll move a Rubber tree plant

Anyone knows an ant

Can't

Move a Rubber tree plant

But, he's got high hopes

He's got high hopes

He's got high apple pie in the sky hopes...

_We follow Teresa's body as it drifts downstream..._

**435\. EXT. DEER MEADOW, FISHERMAN'S WHARF – DAY**

_At the edge of a creaky, wooden wharf is the house of a humble fisherman. The truck of a traveling salesman is parked in the dirt outside. Balancing on the front porch is a portly FISHERMAN who uses a support beam to steady himself as he tries out a sample pair of boots._

_Accompanying him on his front patio is PHILLIP GERARD __**[Al Strobel]**__, a one-armed shoe salesman with white whiskers and a booming baritone voice. His tone is especially agreeable as he tries to hock his wares. His left arm is missing, and his extraneous shirt sleeve is neatly folded against his shoulder._

_The fisherman removes the right-foot boot he was trying on and places it back on the table, beside the stuffed sample case. He flexes it back and forth and tests the texture of the inside with his hand._

FISHERMAN:

I dunno... The insole is a little rigid, don'tchya think?

_Gerard chuckles as he explains the inner workings of footwear._

GERARD:

Most folks think that you want a soft, spongy insole for maximum comfort. And... most folks end up with flat feet as a result.

FISHERMAN:

You don't say?

GERARD:

I sure do!

_Gerard takes the shoe with his remaining hand and demonstrates._

GERARD:

You want a firmer insole to support your arch, especially when you're out hiking, bouncing up and down all day. A spongy insole is going to ware that arch down. Now look at this heel, here.

_Gerard slams the heel against the table._

GERARD:

Solid as a rock!

_The fisherman is on the verge of being sold..._

FISHERMAN:

You say a lot of people buy this one?

GERARD:

Circle Brand are the best selling boots in our inventory, yessir.

FISHERMAN:

Okay, okay. I'll take it.

_Gerard grins with victory. He pulls out a clipboard and pen, handing them off to the fisherman._

GERARD:

You'll be very pleased with your purchase, sir. If you'll just sign here.

_The fisherman scribbles out a barely legible signature._

FISHERMAN:

How long do these usually take to arrive?

GERARD:

Two day delivery, guaranteed.

_Something large and heavy hits the dock with an echoing thud, instantly grabbing their attention. The men look at each other with mutual curiosity._

GERARD:

What was that?

_Gerard and the fisherman step off of the porch and jog down the wharf. They can see something white bobbing up and down in the water, the Sun glistening off of it's reflective surface. The fisherman drops to his knees, leaning over the water, trying to pull the object up onto the wharf. He calls out to the shoe salesman for assistance._

FISHERMAN:

Damn thing is heavy! Can you give me a hand!?

_Gerard reaches with his only hand and pulls with all of his might. The two men manage to drag the form up onto the wharf, both falling over backwards in the process. After taking a moment to catch their breath, they realize that laying before them is a human body, wrapped in plastic. The fisherman pulls back the plastic like a bouquet of flowers, unveiling the pale face of a dead teenage girl. It is Teresa Banks._

FISHERMAN:

Oh my God... She's dead... I'll phone the police.

_The fisherman rushes back to his house to use the telephone, leaving Gerard alone to stand over the poor, deceased girl. He stares down at her corpse with sorrow, loosing himself in her vacant, green eyes. He feels not only sadness for the death of a stranger, but... somewhere inside is a deeper connection that he cannot understand. A booming feedback fills his ears and he finds himself inexorably drawn to the body..._

_Gerard opens the plastic further and__ fishes around the corpse, searching for something. He pulls Teresa's right arm out of the plastic sleeve and finds a Green Ring around her finger. A signet symbol that vaguely resembles an Owl is carved into it's emerald surface. Looking back and forth to ensure he is still alone, he pulls it off and places it on his own finger. Gerard convulses as a strange power enters his body. His posture changes and his voice lowers, as if he were a completely different person. He begins to prophesize with a ghoulish intensity._

GERARD:

Bob... I will find you... and you'll pay dearly for what you have stolen from me...

_An even stranger sensation comes over him. The one-armed man holds his head and shakes as a telepathic revelation dizzily effects his awareness._

GERARD:

No... Something's different... Something is amiss... Who's altering my world...? Who's changing the cycle...?

_We spin in a circle around Phillip Gerard as he looks up into the sky and shouts over the water._

GERARD:

You old witch! Why are you protecting him!? I need his help! Stay out of this!

_Phillip Gerard places Teresa's arm back inside the plastic and wraps it securely, making it look as though it was never disturbed. The One-Armed Man creeps down the wharf and retrieves his sample case from the table, swiftly making his way to his truck and promptly starting the engine._

_The fisherman returns from inside his home, surprised as the shoe salesman pulls away in his truck down the dirt road. Immediately he is suspicious, but shrugs it off soon enough and wanders back to examine the dead girl as he waits for the police._

**436\. INT. PORTLAND FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_Gordon Cole stands at his desk at the Portland office, the hand-painted wildlife mural behind him. A cup of coffee is in his hand, still steaming, but nearly empty. His face is grim as he looks over a case file, scanning the words with his free hand. Along with a lengthy readout, the folder contains pictures of Teresa Banks' body. Gordon is clearly emotionally effected by these photographs, his voice quivering as he tries to remain professional. Margot awaits his response with perky patience, her smile and saccharine voice not reflecting the morbidity of the murder.._

GORDON:

YOU SAY SHE WAS WRAPPED IN ELASTIC!?

MARGOT:

As a matter of fact, that's not what I said at all! I said she was wrapped in _plastic_!

GORDON:

PLASTIC, YOU SAY!?

MARGOT:

That's right! Like the kind you use to transport goods!

GORDON:

SHIPPING PLASTIC!? MY GOD, WHAT FORM OF DEVILTRY IS THIS!? I'VE GOT A DEFINITE FEELING ABOUT THIS ONE, MARGOT! THIS IS SOME BAD MOJO, HERE, AND NO MISTAKE!

MARGOT:

I've been told to show you this as well, Chief!

_Margot unbuttons her blazer and opens the lapel outwards. Pinned to the inside of her lapel is a Blue Rose. Gordon's mouth hangs open._

GORDON:

WHO TOLD YOU TO SHOW THIS TO ME?!

_For the first time, Margot's smile vanishes and her tone is serious._

MARGOT:

You know very well who...

_Gordon nods with reluctant understanding. Margot buttons her blazer up and returns to her usually bubbly self._

MARGOT:

Shall I connect you with Special Agent Dale Cooper?!

_Gordon stands in silent ponder for an unnatural length of time. He seems to be having difficulty coming to a decision. He lifts up his mug to his lips, finishing off the remainder of his coffee in a single, hearty douse._

MARGOT:

… Chief!?

GORDON:

NO, NOT COOP!

_Margot does not hide her surprise at Gordon's decision._

MARGOT:

Are you sure!? I thought he was your man for cases of this nature!?

_Gordon speaks slowly and without understanding, as if he is not responsible for his own words._

GORDON:

I'VE GOT TO GIVE THIS ONE TO AGENT DESMOND! HE'S MORE EXPERIENCED! THERE MIGHT BE TOO MUCH AT STAKE, HERE!

_Margot is unconvinced, but follows her orders._

MARGOT:

Okay, Chief! So, you want me to get Agent Desmond on the horn!?

GORDON:

JUST ONE MOMENT, MARGOT! MY TANK IS RUNNING ON EMPTY! I NEED REFUELING! TOP PRIORITY!

_Gordon extends his empty coffee mug._

MARGOT:

You got it, Chief!

_Margot steps up close to Gordon as he hands her the empty mug. The Regional Chief then proceeds to bellow out an order almost directly into her ear canal._

GORDON:

GET ME AGENT CHESTER DESMOND IN FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA!

**437\. EXT. DEER MEADOW, FAT TROUT TRAILER PARK – DAY**

_The day after performing the autopsy on Teresa Banks, Special Agent Chester Desmond is back at the Fat Trout Trailer Park, checking up on something that had been troubling him. He strolls down the center isle of the complex with CARL RODD __**[Harry Dean Stanton]**__, the grumpy owner of the park. He points towards a mobile abode located dead ahead._

CARL:

That's Deputy Cliff's trailer. Right there by that red truck. That's his truck, too.

DESMOND:

Right. Teresa Banks' trailer is over here...

_Trying to get his bearings, Desmond points in a vague direction that he recalls being before. Carl corrects his recollection and pinpoints the precise location._

CARL:

Right where we left it.

_A PEG LEGGED WOMAN, who is not exactly of a refined social standing, waddles their way, sourly issuing demands to her landlord._

PEG LEGGED WOMAN:

Where's my Goddamn hot water!?

_Carl shakes his head at Desmond, looking for moral support._

CARL:

See what I mean? I'll be in my trailer if you need me.

PEG LEGGED WOMAN:

Hot water, Carl!

_Carl puts his arm around the woman and leads her back to her home._

CARL:

I'm gonna get you some Valium...

_Agent Desmond is left alone in the center of the park. As he begins to head the direction of Deputy Cliff's trailer, he feels himself being overcome by a strange intuition. As a booming feedback fills his ears, he takes a moment to absorb his surroundings, picking out minute details that would otherwise pass his notice. A surge of Electricity buzzes through the power lines overhead, and a faint Native American whooping is buried within the sound. Desmond notices the wooden telegraph post has the number "_6_" branded upon it, and suddenly feels the urge to turn around._

_In the clearing ahead of him is the trailer which belonged to Mrs. Chalfont and her grandson. The lights are on inside, but no one is visible through the window. Compelled by an external premonition, Desmond slowly approaches the camper, trying to get a look inside. He knocks on the door and awaits an answer, but none follows._

_Desmond crouches to the ground and peers underneath the trailer, discovering a mound of dirt with a small indentation at the top. Resting in the pocket of soil is the Green Ring with the mark of the Owl. Desmond gets down on his hands and knees and reaches for the item. The moment it touches his fingers, it emits a blinding flash of white light and Special Agent Chester Desmond is erased from existence..._

_Everything goes still and quiet, not even an animal daring to make a sound. For a few moments, there seem to be no forms of life in the trailer park. A lone bluebird silently flies overhead, quickly vacating the area as it senses something unnatural occurring below._

_The door to the trailer opens, and Phillip Gerard steps out. Dousing the lights and shutting the door silently behind him, he crawls down to the mound of dirt and reaches underneath with his only hand, retrieving his Green Ring. Grinning with devious subterfuge, he places the ring back on his finger and leaves._

**438\. INT. PHILADELPHIA DESMOND APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_Vera Tierney is asleep in her bedroom, nestled snugly under the covers. The room is much smaller than in her previous home. The walls contain no decorative paper, and there are no mounds of stuffed animals occupying the corners to keep her company. The frugal living space contains only the bare necessities needed to achieve a decent night's sleep, and nothing more._

_A bright, white flash fills the room and Vera awakens abruptly with a cold shudder. She knows, instantly, that something is missing from her life. For the first time in months, she feels abandoned and utterly alone. She calls out into the night for someone she knows is no longer there..._

VERA:

Uncle Desmond... Where did you go...?

_Ripping the covers off of her, she reaches for the snowglobe, which rests on the table beside her bed. She looks inside, desperately hoping to find someone to rely on... but there is no Angel awaiting her. No one to make her feel better. All that is inside is cold, lifeless plaster. The little girl whispers to herself..._

VERA:

The Angels have all gone away...

**439\. INT. PHILADELPHIA FBI OFFICES – DAY**

_Regional Chief Gordon Cole is sitting at his desk, perplexity painting his profile. Across from him is Special Agent Albert Rosenfield, slouching back and resting his feet up on his superior's desk. The two are mid-conversation._

GORDON:

EVERY SYLLABLE OF EVERY WORD IS THE SOUND OF TWO HANDS CLAPPING!? IS THAT WHAT YOU SAID, ALBERT!?

ALBERT:

Six to eight hands clapping! I was referring to the possibility of a little silence!

_Before Gordon can ask for further explanation, the telephone at his desk rings. Gordon answers._

GORDON:

HELLO! REGIONAL CHIEF GORDON COLE! … HELLO! WHAT'S THAT!? … EXCUSE ME!? IS THAT ANY WAY TO ADDRESS YOUR ELDERS, YOUNG MAN!?

_Gordon lowers the phone with a look of helplessness. Albert motions for him to hand over the receiver._

GORDON:

I THINK IT'S A PRANK PHONE CALL! SOMETHING ABOUT MY REFRIGERATOR! DAMN HOOLIGANS!

ALBERT:

Hello? Oh, yes, Agent Todryk. Yeah, I know... It's a nice silo, but it isn't holding any grain... What's up?

_As the Agent on the other line fills Albert in, his face grows cold._

ALBERT:

I see. Yeah, I'll tell him. Thanks.

_Albert hangs up, turning to face Gordon, who is awaiting details._

ALBERT:

News flash from Deer Meadow! Agent Chester Desmond has disappeared!

GORDON:

DISAPPEARED!?

ALBERT:

According to Agent Stanley, he decided to stay behind an extra day and check up on a lead! By himself! He went to the Fat Trout Trailer Park and hasn't been heard from since!

_Gordon bites his lower lip in uncertainty and shakes his head, accepting more than his fair share of blame._

GORDON:

HOW COULD I BE SO FOOLISH!? I KNEW THAT SOMETHING ABOUT THIS CASE WAS FISHY! I SHOULD HAVE GONE WITH MY GUT AND SENT AGENT COOPER! WHAT WAS I THINKING!? IT WAS ALWAYS SUPPOSED TO BE COOP!

_Gordon buries his head in his hands, shaking in self-disgust. Albert has no words of solace to offer, but he remains silently supportive. Gordon looks back up at him, dutifully._

GORDON:

THIS IS MY MISTAKE, ALBERT, AND I'M GOING TO MAKE IT RIGHT!

ALBERT:

What do you propose!?

_Before Gordon has a chance to respond, his answer presents itself incarnate. Special Agent Dale Cooper strolls their direction from the other side of the office, grinning from ear to ear. His jollity vanishes instantly when he becomes aware of Gordon and Albert's troubled expressions._

DALE:

What is it, Gordon!?

GORDON:

COOP! AGENT CHET DESMOND HAS DISAPPEARED! GONE LIKE THE WIND IN DEER MEADOW!

DALE:

I see... Any leads!?

ALBERT:

None, whatsoever.

DALE:

What was he investigating!?

GORDON:

TERESA BANKS! SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL! MURDERED! HER BODY WRAPPED IN PLASTIC! FORENSICS FOUND THE LETTER "T" UNDER HER FINGERNAIL!

DALE:

The letter "T"...

GORDON:

ACCORDING TO CHET'S EARLIEST FINDINGS, EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS CASE REEKS OF A SERIAL KILLING! I NEED YOU TO HEAD OUT THERE, COOP! SEE IF YOU CAN DIG UP ANYTHING ON AGENT DESMOND'S WHEREABOUTS! AND, WHILE YOU'RE THERE, CONTINUE THE INVESTIGATION!

_Gordon hands Dale a lengthy file folder containing all the case details._

GORDON:

START OFF BY MEETING WITH SPECIAL AGENT SAM STANLEY! HE'S THE ONE WHO CRACKED THE WHITMAN CASE!

_Albert Rosenfield mouths "he's the one who cracked the Whitman case" along with Gordon, reciting the over-used addendum from memory. He embellishes with a masterful rolling of the eyes._

GORDON:

HE'S WITH THE BODY RIGHT NOW OVER IN PORTLAND, OREGON! HE PARTED WAYS WITH AGENT DESMOND RIGHT BEFORE HE VANISHED!

DALE:

Agent Sam Stanley! Check!

GORDON:

WHEN YOU ARRIVE AT THE PORTLAND AIRPORT, I'VE ARRANGED FOR YOU TO MEET A GIRL NAMED LIL! SHE'LL GET YOU UP TO SPEED! SHE'S MY MOTHER'S SISTER'S GIRL!

_Gordon slides his hand over his scalp, bringing his four outstretched fingers across his eyes. Dale nods, understanding the meaning behind this gesture._

GORDON:

TELL ME... WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY DASHING LAPEL!?

_Gordon unbuttons his jacket and flashes the inside of his lapel. Pinned to it is a Blue Rose._

DALE:

Understood, Gordon!

ALBERT:

Oh, dear God...

_Albert puts his palm over his face and shakes his head._

GORDON:

ONE MORE THING, COOP! THIS IS WASHINGTON STATE, AND IT'S WINTERTIME! WE ARE TALKING _REAL_ COLD WEATHER! YOU'RE GONNA NEED LAYERS, AND LOTS OF 'EM!

ALBERT:

Yeah. Don't forget to pack your galoshes.

**440\. EXT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, WINDOM'S CELL – DAY**

_In the dead of night, the baleful psychopathic hospital creaks and groans from the wicked wind, the haunted wailing of it's occupants sailing out with the draft. The ghoulish scarecrow dances in the cold wind, a crooked smile torn across it's face._

**441\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, WINDOM'S CELL – DAY**

_Windom Earle is alone in his cell, wrapped up in his straight jacket. Inspired by the melodious breeze whistling through the window bars, he rises and breaks into a mournful song. As he croons his doleful lullaby, he twirls and pirouettes a somber ballet._

WINDOM:

I was alright

For awhile

I could smile for awhile

But, I saw you last night

You held my hand so tight

As you stopped to say "hello"

Oh, you wished me well

You couldn't tell

That I've been crying over you

Crying over you

Then, you said "so long"

Left me standing all alone

Alone and Crying

Crying...

Crying...

Crying...

_His face arcs into an odious grin._

**442\. EXT. LOGGER'S INN – NIGHT**

_A cold sleet hails down throughout the city of Deer Meadow. The Logger's Inn, a supposedly reasonably-priced lodging, was designed to resemble a rustic logging cabin, it's walls constructed from crisscrossed timber. Rather than be cheerfully quaint, it laughably resembles a gigantic set of Lincoln Logs._

**443\. INT. LOGGER'S INN, LOBBY – NIGHT**

_The inner lobby continues the timber motif, it's furnishings almost entirely crafted from wood. An enormous moose head is mounted high on the wall above the front counter, accompanied by a menagerie of various species of birds and rodents, stuffed and posed in pugnacious attack stances throughout the room. The patter of the outside rain echoes through the small waiting area. Dale Cooper, dressed in his thickest overcoat and woolly scarf, is currently debating with ALLEN __**[M. Emmet Walsh]**__, the greasy, bucktoothed owner of the establishment._

ALLEN:

Yessir? What can I do ya for?

DALE:

Excuse me. It's not my wish to complain, but I feel as though I have been grossly misled by your brochure.

ALLEN:

Mislead? Mislead how?

_Dale exhibits the brochure and points to specific passages as he cites them._

DALE:

You're brochure advertises "competitive rates for the business traveler", which was the sole basis of my booking with you tonight. However, now that I have arrived, it seems that a plethora of add-ons have materialized from out of nowhere, severely raising my bill!

_Allen just raises an eyebrow as he looks at Dale._

ALLEN:

What's "plethora" mean?

_Dale uncharacteristically loses his temper._

DALE:

It means that I have no interest in premium movie channels. It means that I will not take advantage of twenty-four hour hot tub access. And, it certainly means that I have not even a passing interest in valet parking reservations!

ALLEN:

Those are all standard inclusions with the single.

DALE:

Which brings me to the private bathroom. Is it entirely necessary for a single room accommodation to be fitted with a private bathroom? Who, exactly, do I need privacy from?

ALLEN:

That's how we build 'em, friend.

_Dale takes a deep, calming breath. He leans forward against the counter, which divides the two men, and stares down Allen._

DALE:

Allow me to be frank. There are only two things I am after: a clean room and a good rate. Since it would seem that I cannot get both from your lodgings, I am inclined to take my business elsewhere.

_Allen leans forward, matching Dale's stare, and calls his bluff._

ALLEN:

And, allow me to be frank with you. There ain't much lodgings to be had here in Deer Meadow. If you want to head out into the cold, rainy night and hunt for a cheaper room, you're welcome to it. But, I don't rate your chances.

_The man's oily lips stretch into a grin, the few teeth which remain blackened and misshapen. Dale narrows his eyes and silently fumes, opting to turn around and head back to his room rather then perpetuate the hopeless confrontation._

ALLEN:

Enjoy your stay, sir.

**444\. INT. LOGGER'S INN, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_The room is not particularly clean, and there is an overabundance of unnecessary furniture, many of which serve the exclusive purpose of housing overpriced snacks and drinks. A television is installed in the corner, accompanied by price guides for the premium channels. Dale, comfortably garbed in his bright red thermal underwear, is laying in his bed facing upwards, speaking into his tape recorder._

DALE:

Diane, every trail has an origin. Nothing can move about this world without leaving so much as a mark. But that's what we have, here. I don't know how to articulate this... but something is very wrong here. That would seem like an obvious statement. But, there's something at work here that I feel I've come into contact with before. Call it an evil, a sensation of something old and very dangerous that I have come into contact with three times before. Once in a small mountain village when I was traveling, once in college, and once when Caroline was killed. Bureau training does not cover or even acknowledge the existence of forces outside of the physical world. Nothing in Western thinking does. But, it is there. Whether it travels in the shadow of the night, or slips by on a gust of wind, or is carried around in the soul like a serpent, waiting for the moment to strike. I know it is real because I have watched a good friend destroyed by it. It has been here in this remote town, and it has claimed another victim. The question is, when will it strike again, as I know it will, and where?

_Dale takes a deep, soothing breath._

DALE:

Enough for one night, Diane.

_Dale clicks off his recorder and stares up at the ceiling._

**445\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, PLAY ROOM – DAY**

_Spirits are high in the insane asylum's recreational area. Patients who exhibit the healthiest attitudes and maintain the most flawless safety records are allowed to socialize and play games with each other, while under the constant watch of club-wielding guards. Different social circles of the clinic's inmate population sit together at plastic tables, playing cards and board games. All of of the prisoners wear straight-jackets, loosened or unfastened to different degrees based on their individual behavior._

_Windom Earle sits alone in the far corner, politely ostracizing himself from his colleagues. He discreetly stares from afar at BILLY __**[Frank Collison]**__, a scrawny, frog-faced man with thick glasses and a squeaky voice. The chipper inmate is playing Connect Four at the edge of an occupied table. Dr. Bayberry leans over Billy and speaks to him in a condescending, but supportive tone._

BAYBERRY:

Good morning, Billy! And, how are you feeling today?

_Billy gazes up in elation, loyal as a St. Bernard._

BILLY:

Right as rain, Doc. Right as rain.

BAYBERRY:

I'm so happy to hear that, Billy. I can really see the Sunshine in your eyes, this morning! You're positively beaming!

BILLY:

Well, maybe I've got a lot to beam about, ain't that right?

_Billy puts his game pieces down on the table and takes a nervous breath, anxious to find out the news, good or bad._

BILLY:

Give it to me straight, Doc. What's the latest word?

_Bayberry debates for a moment whether he should say anything, or keep quiet._

BAYBERRY:

You know that I don't want to get your hopes up, prematurely... but things are looking good. The parole board takes my recommendation very seriously, and you know I'm pulling for you 100%.

_Dr. Bayberry makes a fist and swings his arm across his body in a "can do" gesture. Billy grins with gratitude._

BILLY:

Thanks so much for everything, Doc. It was you what made me right, again.

BAYBERRY:

Well, that's all I want, you know. I only want to help you.

_Bayberry ruffles Billy's hair affectionately and walks away. From across the room, Windom has been intently observing their entire interaction. After Billy has been left alone at his table, smiling rapturously, Earle wanders over and takes a seat next to him. He feigns a sense of camaraderie._

WINDOM:

I'll bet you can almost taste that frozen yoghurt, can't you?

BILLY:

You heard the news, Windom? My parole hearing is next week, and the Doc says I'm a shoe-in! That's alls I've ever wanted... A chance to start over.

_From behind a smirk plagued with vile apathy, Windom shatters Billy's world._

WINDOM:

I'm so sorry, Billy, but you don't get to start over.

BILLY:

… What do you mean?

WINDOM:

You'll never open your yoghurt stand. You'll never feel the gentle breeze upon your face, nor the soft grass beneath your feet, and, your lungs will never again be filled with the fresh air of freedom. You will die in this cold, lonely place.

BILLY:

… How do you know that?

_Fear__ tugs at Billy's features as he awaits an explanation. Presciently, Windom leans in closely and whispers a stream of inaudible secrets into Billy's ear. Once he has unburdened himself, he pulls away. We see Billy's previous optimism replaced with utter, inconsolable devastation, every last trace of hope taken from him, forever. His lip quivers up and down and a solitary tear slides down his cheek and onto the floor. His heart drowned in futility, he stands up, leaving his game unfinished, and wordlessly returns to his cell. Windom follows him with his sadistic eyes, grinning with exultant glee._

**446\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, BILLY'S ROOM – NIGHT**

_Alone in his dark cell, Billy is clawing his filthy nails desperately against the locked door, bloody scratch marks left behind, shrieking for assistance._

BILLY:

Help! Guard! Come, quick! I need your help!

_Billy's nocturnal howls echo through the long asylum hallways, inciting unrest from the other disturbed inmates. A beefy SECURITY GUARD sprints up, fumbling with his keys as he hustles to unlock the door._

SECURITY GUARD:

What in the heck is it, Billy!? What's the matter!?

BILLY:

A whole lot is the matter! Just hurry up and get in here, so I can show you!

_The guard manages to get the bolt unfastened. He yanks the door open and swiftly steps inside. As soon as he has gotten into the room, Billy lunges at him, slamming headfirst into his waist. Taken completely by surprise, the guard is tackled onto his back, the wind knocked from his lungs._

_Not hesitating for an instant, Billy rips the baton from the wheezing guard's belt and clubs him over the face, prompting a nauseating squishy crack. Before the guard has a chance to defend himself, Billy repeatedly beats him to death, fragments of flesh and skull dripping from the end of his cudgel. After an excessive pummeling, Billy relents, wiping the blood from his hands and the mucus from his nose. Billy shakily pulls the keys from the dead guard's belt._

**447\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, WINDOM'S CELL – NIGHT**

_Billy groans as he trudges backwards down the hall, dragging the weighty corpse of the guard by it's underarms. A slug-like trail of blood oozes along the floor behind them. Fumbling with the cumbersome ring of keys, Billy opens the door to his neighboring cell. He wipes the stream of hopeless tears and mucus from his face as he pulls them both inside._

_Windom Earle is seated on the floor of his cell engaged in a solo game of Chess. The soft glow of the television flickers behind, casting a blue tint over the room and replacing the nighttime silence with ambient white noise. Windom does not even seem to notice as Billy drags the body to the center of the floor, his concentration devoted solely to his game._

_Billy digs around the guard's body and finds a lengthy rope fastened to his belt. He slings it over a rafter from above and ties a pair of nooses from the hanging ends. Windom just chuckles to himself as he makes a crafty move. As Billy sets about to hanging himself and the guard, we close in on the barred window, the luminescent Moon shining brightly in the sky outside..._

**448\. INT. PHILADELPHIA FBI OFFICES, MEETING ROOM – DAY**

_Gordon Cole has invited Dale Cooper into the private meeting room. As the Agent enters, his superior meets his stare with troubled eyes. Without a word, Gordon's hand emerges from his overcoat, an unmarked cassette tape clenched tightly between his fingers. Dale's heartbeat rapidly picks up speed as he takes the tape in his own grip and inserts it into the tape player. With a hesitant click, the recording plays it's hissing message..._

WINDOM:

It is time for the game to commence. I will move first. It will come when you least expect it, and at the worst possible time. Now, time for a riddle. If a plane crashes on the U.S.-Canadian border, on which side do they bury the survivors? That's an easy one. Answer: Neither side. You first have to kill them. Here's another one. Why do you think Bobby Fisher turned to God and gave up Chess? Answer: To get to the other side. Meet any nice girls lately? See you soon, Dale.

_Dale looks at the floor as Gordon plants a reassuring hand on his shoulder._

GORDON:

THERE'S NOT MUCH THAT CAN BE DONE WITH EARLE, LEGALLY! IT ONLY TOOK THEM TWO HOURS TO FIND HIM, AND HE CLAIMS HE'D ONLY FLED FOR HIS SAFETY! IT WAS HIS CELL NEIGHBOR THAT KILLED THE GUARD AND OPENED THE DOOR! HE'LL JUST BE GOING BACK TO HIS ROOM LIKE USUAL! ROTTEN LUCK THIS GUY CHOSE TO INCLUDE WINDOM IN HIS SUICIDE-MURDER STUNT!

_Dale sternly meets Gordon's stare with unblinking eyes._

DALE:

Luck had no part in this devious scheme! The inmate's death was as much Agent Earle's orchestration as was the mailing of this tape! He is slowly making steps in a calculated master plan which he's been conceiving of for years, and it would appear that I am still his target! He's continually insinuating himself upon innocent lives in order to get to me! Gordon, we must do anything we can to get Earle behind tighter security!

_Upset, frustrated, and worried, Dale storms from the room._

**449\. INT. DALE'S PHILADELPHIA APARTMENT – DAY**

_Dale, dressed in his bright red pajamas, lays in his bed stroking Sirite as he speaks into his tape recorder._

DALE:

If evil is a thread that winds like a string around the globe, then I fear those threads all end up in the cell where Windom is held. Authorities report that shortly before his brief escape, the patient whom Windom had befriended had been found hanged by his neck in Earle's cell, along with the security guard on duty. Earle was not physically responsible for either death. The inmate was reportedly in high spirits and scheduled for release within the next two weeks.

_Dale pauses, clears his throat, and drastically changes the subject._

DALE:

Diane, I've never asked you this before, and as a general rule I try never to mix my private and public life, but I would consider it a great honor if you would consider having dinner with me. If this in any way crosses over a line that we have long ago set for our relationship, I will understand. If not, how does eight o'clock sound?

_Dale smiles as he clicks off the recorder._

**450\. EXT. LEE HOW FOOK – NIGHT**

_Located on an unassuming back street, flushed incongruously onto plain brick and mortar, is a humble, red paifang archway and accompanying neon sign, which sizzles "_Lee How Fook_". Beyond the unassuming entryway awaits the finest Chinese cuisine in all of Philadelphia._

**451\. INT. LEE HOW FOOK – NIGHT**

_Dale and Diane sit at a circular table in the chic Chinese restaurant. Between them is an massive platter of Peking Duck. Diane uses her delicately polished fingers to wrap luscious slices of duck, dripping with thick plum sauce, into the puffy, white buns. She shoves the entire piece in her mouth, moaning in ecstasy as she chews. A drop of purple plum sauce dribbles down her mouth, which she wipes up with her florid red finger, not hesitating to lick it clean._

_Dale sits across from Diane, having barely touched his own half of the entree. This being his first opportunity to engage in forthright conversation with the woman to whom he has confided his most intimate thoughts and innermost __fear__s for the past several years, he instead opts to maintain a silent, spectating position. Dale voicelessly watches her devour her entire meal in a hypnotized wonderment, not daring to utter a word._

**452\. EXT. PHILADELPHIA STREETS – NIGHT**

_Rain patters down on an urbanized Philly street. The wind blusters along the cracked pavement and disperses dead leafs in scattered patterns along the wet stretches of road. The lengthy telephone wires buzz noisily with rapidly streaming currents of Electricity, and the dazzling Moon shines down on the city from high up in the sky._

**453\. INT. DALE'S PHILADELPHIA APARTMENT – NIGHT**

_Dale opens the door to his apartment, uniformed in his black suit and tie, looking wearily exhausted. He drops his briefcase to the floor and slips his jacket off. As he loosens his tie, he pulls out his tape recorder and makes an entry as he continues undressing._

DALE:

A slow week. One bank robbery, a case of extortion, and one failed kidnapping. Gave a talk at the Rotary tonight on white collar crime in the workplace. In a nutshell, Diane, I am bored, and have not found a way to combat this malaise. Holmes used cocaine, an alternative I find unacceptable. What I need, what any detective needs, is a good case. Something to test oneself to the absolute limit. To walk to the edge of the fire and risk it all. The razor's edge. Are there any great cases anymore, Diane? Is there a Lindbergh kidnapping, a Brinks robbery, a John Dillinger, a Professor Moriarty? If I was to say in my heart that I hoped there was, then I should hang up my badge and gun and retire. As the saying goes, be careful what you wish for, you may just get it.

_Dale clicks off his recorder, stripped down to his shorts, tank top and high-pinned socks, and wanders over to check on little Sirite. Dale leans down, opens the door to the cage, and finds the soft, white bunny laying unmoving on her side. The poor creature has died. Dale pulls the limp, weightless body close to his and strokes her soft fur one last time..._

DALE:

So, it would seem I am truly alone, at last...

**454\. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, WINDOM'S CELL – NIGHT**

_Windom is laying on his stomach, feet bouncing up in the air behind him like a child. His straightjacket has been untied, and he composes a letter on the floor with an ornate fountain pen. Dr. Bayberry sits in a fold-up chair, sipping noisily from his cup of herbal tea, watching his prize inmate with fatherly pride._

BAYBERRY:

Who are you writing to, Windom?

WINDOM:

My very best friend in the whole, wide world.

BAYBERRY:

What are you telling him?

WINDOM:

That I'll be visiting him, soon. He's going to introduce me to his new girlfriend.

BAYBERRY:

That's wonderful. It's always important to keep in touch with our loved ones.

WINDOM:

Do you have a best friend, Doctor?

BAYBERRY:

Why, yes I do.

WINDOM:

Then I'd suggest you write to him now while you still have a chance.

_Dr. Bayberry eyes him curiously, but shrugs it off as he takes another slurp of his tea. Windom finishes composing his letter and folds it into an envelope, licking it sealed with globules of salivation._

WINDOM:

Would you be a dear and mail this off to my friend?

BAYBERRY:

Of course, Windom.

**455\. INT. PITTSBURGH FBI OFFICES, MEETING ROOM – DAY**

_Dale Cooper has laid out a letter across the table, showing it to Gordon Cole. The handwriting seems to impossibly transform it's style multiple times throughout the composition, appearing to have been transcribed by multiple different writers._

LETTER:

Dear Coop,

Seems I've not quite been myself for the last several years. I would like very much to make up for all the lost time between us, and I think I know just the thing. A test of skill. One last game. Me, the brilliant teacher revered by all inside these dreary powder-blue walls, and you, his promising, if predictable student. Is it a deal? … Good. I will make the first move very soon.

Windom Earle.

_Gordon, having finished reading the letter, looks up at Dale._

DALE:

These are not merely the ramblings of an insane man! This is something far more sinister! Gordon, I fear a wind is about to begin blowing... and no one knows who will be left in it's path!

**456\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT**

_The cold wind yowls through the Pine boughs and Fir needles of Ghostwood National Forest on this Moonlit night. Dead leafs scatter along the shady forest floor, the breeze waves the branches to and fro, and the shadows shift under the bright Moonlight, which breaks through the canopy in scattered beams. A pair of elk look up from their meals, sensing an evil is traveling their way. High up in the trees, a Giant Horned Owl puffs out it's feathery chest, cocking it's head to the side as it strains to hear the secrets whispered in the darkness._

**457\. EXT. OWL CAVE – NIGHT**

_ In an isolated corner of Ghostwood National Forest, which skirts the small logging town of Twin Peaks, there a dark cavern called "Owl Cave". Candlelight flickers from it's open mouth, spilling out into the Moonlit woodlands..._

**458\. INT. OWL CAVE - NIGHT**

_The interiors of the cave are damp and musty, the rocky walls grooved and bumpy from eons of trickling water. Blue Moonlight filters in through the mist. The top level of the cave is small, but down a steep, treacherous incline is a spacious lower chamber. Glyphs adorn the walls, patterned decades before by the indigenous peoples. Their meanings are religious in nature, and pertain to the legends of the Black and White Lodges._

_Inside the cave, a cabal of Circulars convene. The brothers all wear long cloaks of brown wool, their hoods pulled up over their heads. Spelunking gear is stored against the wall, and lengths of rope descend from the upper chamber, evidencing the difficulties required to reach this inner sanctum. At the far edge of the room, a crude alter chiseled from stone has been erected. One lone figure stands isolated in the corner, a black bag over his head to keep his identity unidentifiable._

_A portable wooden table has been set up against a rocky wall. On it surface are several large thermoses of hot coffee, along with accompanying Styrofoam cups, available for any of the Circulars to serve themselves. Two of the Dugpas are chit-chatting in the corner, taking relieving slurps of their coffee. One is EMORY BATTIS __**[Don Amendolia]**__, a weaselly man with oily hair and an extra helping of chin. He bores BROTHER OLCOTT with his self-indulgent shop talk._

EMORY:

Everyone thinks perfume is glamorous, yaknow, but... really it's not. Let me tell you something. They act all prim and proper, but some of these women are animals.

OLCOTT:

I can imagine.

EMORY:

I mean, they'll just take the cap right off and help themselves. Give a squirt to see if they like it. Right as I'm standing there watching!

OLCOTT:

Can you beat that?

EMORY:

Some women will actually try out the mascara or the lipstick. Then, put it back on the shelf when they're finished. Dear God, have they never heard of herpes!?

OLCOTT:

You don't say...

EMORY:

If it doesn't have "tester" clearly labeled on the bottle, then hands off. I mean, we teach that in primary school, right?

OLCOTT:

Right.

EMORY:

What am I to do? And, I know damn well that some of these ladies aren't even looking to buy. They're just passing through, on their way to a date, or what-have-you, and they need a pick me up. We'll, I've got some faces memorized now, and if I catch them again... it's "you open it, you buy it" time, brother.

_Olcott taps Emory on the chest to shut him up as he notices the HEAD CIRCULAR __**[Tracy Walter]**__ taking his place at the altar. The entire order of Circulars hurriedly finish consuming their coffees and form a giant semi-circle around their lead orator.__ Around his neck is a Green Amulet made from jade, carved into the shape of a flame within a circle. His throat-stripping voice is so deafeningly abrasive that his clergy cannot help but recoil from every syllable. He has a curious accent that does not resemble any specific ethnic origin, but sounds vaguely Middle Eastern or Eastern European. He raises his hands skyward as he sermonizes._

HEAD CIRCULAR:

In the beginning was the end!

_His brothers in attendance raise their hands skyward and complete the prophetic decree in unison._

FELLOW CIRCULARS:

And, everything must proceed cyclically!

HEAD CIRCULAR:

Greetings, my fellow brothers of the Circular Lodge! Tonight is a troubling evening for us all, because our beloved master of darkness will be leaving us to fend for ourselves during the coming months! But, in his absence, we must strengthen our resolves and hone our patience as we wait for the shift in the Balance that we've been anticipating! Our time is now, noble brethren, and it is time to initiate the plan...

_The Head Circular drops to his knees. From the corner, the man with the bag over his head steps up to the altar._

HEAD CIRCULAR:

And now, our Dark Lord wishes to speak...

_The man removes the bag and reveals himself to be Leland Palmer. But, through his raspy voice and manic eyes, it is evident that Killer Bob is really the one speaking._

LELAND:

Alright, mugs, listen up. Stuff's going down this month. Heavy stuff. More than likely, I'll have to ditch this vessel which I've maintained for so many years. But, believe me when I say, I've got everything under control. I know what I'm doing, and I'm gonna walk among you once more!

FELLOW CIRCULARS:

He will walk!

LELAND:

Listen up, 'cos I only get to say this once. I want you all to keep a low profile while I'm gone. Clam up and keep quiet until I return in another body...

HEAD CIRCULAR:

How will we know you?

LELAND:

I will come to you dressed all in black. You got that? I'll give you further instructions, then.

HEAD CIRCULAR:

We live only to serve, my lord.

_Leland scoffs._

LELAND:

You live for power, that's all. And, you'll get plenty of it if you do as I say and stay calm. I'm gonna be claiming a few bodies this month, and that means some bulls may be sticking their noses in your nooks and crannies, got me? So, until I say otherwise, the Circulars no longer exist. Keep you head low, and your nose to the grindstone.

HEAD CIRCULAR:

Fill your Deathbag, my lord, until it overflows. And, when you have satisfied your appetite, you can count on us to be ready.

_Leland nods with confidence. A crafty grin sprawls across his face._

LELAND:

There's an Electrical storm blowing our way, boys... And, I aim to catch lightening in a bottle.

_The Circulars begin chanting. Leland stands with his arms outstretched, hands clawed, and screams a devilish verse._

LELAND:

Catch you with my Deathbag,

You may think I've gone insane,

But I promise you,

I will kill again!

**459\. INT. DALE'S PHILADELPHIA APARTMENT – NIGHT**

SUBTITLE:

February 24, 1989

_Dale lays under his covers, staring up at the ceiling. It is well into the night, but Dale is wide awake. Glancing at the alarm clock, Dale confirms that it is "_1:22 am_". Wanting to occupy his roaming mind, he reaches for his tape recorder._

DALE:

Unable to sleep. Diane, if a person, as one theory goes, is chosen to live in a particular place for one specific reason, then why am I here now? What moment in history is my life destined to intersect with? Or has it already happened, and I just didn't understand that that was my moment? My mother, Marie, and Caroline. Those are the names on the signposts, past which I've traveled. But, where is the next one, and who's name will be on it? My own? Windom Earle's? Or another? Diane, as Groucho Marx once said, "Harpo, you talk too much." Good night, Diane.

_Click._

**460\. EXT. BLUE PINE LODGE – DAY**

_On the shore of Black Lake, next to a giant log, is the body of Laura Palmer. The young prom queen is dead, her stiff, sallow body wrapped in plastic. Sheriff HARRY S. TRUMAN __**[Michael Ontkean]**__ and Doctor WILL HAYWARD __**[Warren Frost]**__ are on their hands and knees, carefully pulling back the plastic around her, unveiling her pallid face like a bouquet of flowers. They reel back in shock when they recognize her._

HAYWARD:

Good Lord! Laura!

**461\. INT. DALE'S APARTMENT – DAY**

_Dale is still awake, but gradually drifting towards unconsciousness, when he is jolted back to reality from the blaring of his ringing telephone. He sits up straight, the hair on the left side of his head standing up on edge, and notices that the alarm clock indicates that the time is "_6:13_". He clumsily removes the receiver from it's base and groggily answers._

DALE:

Dale Cooper... Yes. … What? Okay. Yeah, I understand. I'll head out right away.

_Dale hangs up and shakes his head to readjust his equilibrium. He steps out of bed and clumsily staggers into his kitchen, desperately flipping the switch to begin his necessary morning cup of coffee. As the boiling process begins, Dale wanders back to his bedside and reaches for his tape recorder._

DALE:

There's been a body found in Washington State, Diane. A young woman, wrapped in plastic. This appears to be one of Gordon's "Blue Rose Cases". I'm headed for a little town called Twin Peaks.

**462\. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST - DAY**

_The early morning wind blows through the branches of a lone Ponderosa Pine. A meadowlark hops along it's branch, chirping a merry song._

**463\. EXT. THE LAMPLIGHTER INN – DAY**

_Hidden amongst the Pines off a lonely fork in the road is a rustic bed and breakfast. The Lamplighter Inn is constructed entirely of Timber and Revolution-era oil lamps hang from the rafters. A hand-carved sign out front depicts Paul Revere riding through the streets on a horse, an extended pole gripped in his hand, it's wick lit with a flickering flame. Along with a smattering of rusty, uncleaned trucks, a silver Federal Issue car is parked out front._

**464\. INT. THE LAMPLIGHTER INN – DAY**

_The dining hall of the Inn is open to overnight guests and those passing through, alike. An ELDERLY WAITRESS is servicing the entire clientele, as well as maintaining the cash register, without any assistance. A group of three old timers sit up against the counter and enjoy their cups of steaming hot coffee in stony silence. A backdrop of pleasured wailing echoes throughout the lodgings, prompting the four to turn their heads in titillated curiosity._

_Dale Cooper, dressed in his signature black suit and tie, sits alone at a table in the far end of the dining hall. He moans with ecstasy as he savors his tuna fish sandwich on whole wheat bread and cup of freshly brewed coffee. Worried that someone may be performing indecent acts upon himself, the waitress leaves her counter to go check on him._

ELDERLY WAITRESS:

Enjoying you meal?

_Dale looks up at her with a boyish grin, sliding his nearly empty cup forward._

DALE:

Simply Heaven. And please, keep the coffee coming.

_The waitress smiles with flattery, refilling his cup with boiling hot brew. Dale devourers the final piece of sandwich, and then unfolds his road map._

DALE:

I'm headed up towards a city called... Twin Peaks. You know it?

ELDERLY WAITRESS:

That's that cute little logging town, isn't it?

_Dale tracing his intended route with a forefinger._

DALE:

Would the fastest way to go be up through Lewis Fork, here?

_BROCK, an especially vocal old codger, pipes up from the counter._

BROCK:

Yep! You wanna keep on going up Lewis Fork, and then you'll wanna merge onto Highway 21! Yessir!

DALE:

Thanks very much.

_Dale takes a bite of his pie, which he had been saving until the completion of his sandwich, and moans orgasmically. The waitress gleams, an expression which Dale returns._

DALE:

I'd been warned this was pie country up here, but... you're liable to kill me with this cherry. Could I get the check please?

**465\. EXT. LEWIS FORK – DAY**

_Dale sits down in the driver's seat of his Federal issue car, slams the door closed, and pulls out of the Lamplighter Inn parking lot. Merging onto the fork in the road, Dale turns off towards the direction of Twin Peaks and drives off into the distance. On either side of the highway are nothing but dense forests of Pine and Fir trees._

_We pull up higher and higher into the air, watching Dale drive away until his car becomes a small speck in the distance. An immense logging truck passes by him in the opposite direction, the massive uprooted lumber in it's bay rocking back and forth with the bumps of the road. A Bewick's wren flies through the air, it's little wings flapping to keep it's nearly weightless body aloft, and glides off in the same direction as Dale..._

**466\. INT. THE RED ROOM – TIMELESS**

_The Grandmother and the Magician hold hands as they gaze through the portal, watching Dale driving off towards Twin Peaks. A giant wall of flame engulfs a large portion of the room behind them, casting their skin in an orange glow. They speak to one another in a strange backwards voice._

GRANDMOTHER:

It's him. It must be him.

MAGICIAN:

Dale Cooper is our One Chance Out.

_The Magician holds a hand up and snaps his fingers. The flames instantly extinguish and everything fades to black. Roll credits._

To be Continued in **Twin Peaks: Season 3****!**

A 7 episode season depicting the events directly following season 2

SEE the devastating after-effects of the bank explosion!

HEAR the haunting melodies of the lost souls trapped within the Waiting Room!

SHRIEK IN TERROR as Killer Bob runs amok in the body of Dale Cooper!

BITE YOUR NAILS as Project Blue Book sets up surveillance in Ghostwood Forest!

THRILL as Judy Moon comes to stay in Twin Peaks on a mysterious mission!

REEL BACK IN SHOCK as a traitor is revealed within the Sheriff's Department! GASP!

APPLAUD over solo missions for the Bookhouse Boys!

CHUNDER as more innocent women are added to Killer Bob's grisly body count! WHO WILL IT BE?

GUFFAW as Tim Pinkle and Dick Tremayne rival over preparations for the annual Twin Peaks Caribou Festival!

DISCOVER the secret importance of John Justice Wheeler and why he was suddenly called back to Brazil!

UNCOVER the sinister plans of the Twin Peaks Circular Lodge! THOSE CADS!

STAND AGHAST as the spirits of the White Lodge contact another "gifted" resident of Twin Peaks! CAN YOU GUESS WHO?

COWER IN FEAR when the Black Dog runs at night!

GUSH as Sheriff Truman finds another love interest to fill the hole in his heart left by Josie! AWWW!

REJOICE as Donna Hayward and Big Ed are given plot-centric things to do, again!

BE THANKFUL that there is no more James Hurley!

INDULGE in TWO fan-service double-dates you won't expect!

SCRATCH YOUR HEAD IN BEWILDERMENT over more Monkeys!

And... MARVEL at the epic and triumphant return... of Fred Truax!

**Coming Soon!**


End file.
